


Her Horrors

by FanofaFanofaFandom



Series: And Away We Go [2]
Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Betrayal, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Female Character, Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Child Death, Comfort, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Character of Color, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Murder, Not Happy, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Partner Betrayal, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Wanda Maximoff, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sad, Sad and Happy, Tags Contain Spoilers, Wanda Maximoff Gives a Hug, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanofaFanofaFandom/pseuds/FanofaFanofaFandom
Summary: MJ’s traumatic past comes back 15 years later to haunt her and force her to deal with the lack of closure. She also has to face the secret she’s been hiding in her relationship. It’s tough, but hopefully she can rely on her new friends to help her through it.Takes place more or less immediately after the events of Dear Mr. Fantasy.
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Carol Danvers, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Michelle Jones, Carol Danvers & Michelle Jones, Michelle Jones & Cassie Lang, Michelle Jones & Michelle Jones's Father, Michelle Jones & Natasha Romanov, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Wanda Maximoff, Michelle Jones/Cassie Lang, Michelle Jones/Natasha Romanov, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov
Series: And Away We Go [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682539
Comments: 85
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sour Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385027) by [dollylux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux). 



> This story gets pretty heavy and emotional and graphic, just some warning. Also trigger warning for rape and depictions of death. 
> 
> As you can probably already tell, this is gonna be pretty different from the first work in this series, Dear Mr. Fantasy. This takes place in the same AU. I thought about starting a new series for this work because the two are so different, but this is the sequel that I always intended so I think it fits best in the same series. 
> 
> This is 3rd person from MJ's pov. 
> 
> As always let me know what you think, I adore hearing your feedback and would love to hear what you guys think about this totally different theme!!

Sleep did not bring the ease that most people expect it to. Her subconscious terrors were always worse around this time, especially this year in particular.

In the strange dimension that we don’t truly understand yet still long for, also known as dreaing, MJ felt like she was stranded on a demonic treadmill. The otherworldly, yellow brown hellscape darted past her peripheral. She was sprinting violently, as fast as her body would allow. Her bare feet cracking like frigid blocks of ice under scalding water, body strung on by desperation and pure survival instinct. But no matter how starvingly she ran, she knew _he_ would catch her, _he_ always did. She gazed down, her young, spindly legs galloping through the golden-brown mosaic of the forest floor. The atramentous, chipping trunks of trees whizzing by all around her. The ominous hush of wind rushing past the shells of her ear. The harrowing ooze of blood tingling the soles of her feet. No matter how bad this was, she would rather be forced to run for eons upon eons then spend another millisecond back _there_ , back with _him._ Anything but that. When a loose rusty screw plunged itself into her heel, she was pulled back into waking reality.

She awoke abruptly, inducing a mundane ripple of guilt as she hoped she wouldn’t wake her companions. On her bare back she could feel the frigid, sweaty dampness of the portion of the bed on which she lay; a feeling that had become routine, and in some sick way almost comforting. Almost.

She countered what came next before it even occurred, imagining the straining pain a couple seconds before it actually happened. She fed herself a slow inhale as her calves cramped up. When she was younger, she would often cry out into the midnight when the pain flared. Her dad would rush into the room, baseball bat and flashlight in hand, only to find a frightened little girl entrapped in her own covers, crying and clawing against a non-existent threat. He’d assure her that it was just a bad dream. She’d always ask for a glass of water and a hug, her dad consistently providing both. Over the years she had grown rather accustomed to the wrenching pain, and a decade later it didn’t much bother her anymore. Though sometimes she still felt like she wanted to cry out for her dad.

She reached over for the glass of water on the bedside table, taking a drawn-out sip, feeling the water nourish her Saharan throat. She paused, reminding herself to be grateful that she could do something so simple as reach over for a glass of water when _she_ so chose.

As the liquid trickled past her lips, the water reflected a distorted image of herself. She gazed into the muddled reflection. For so long this image was who she was. Washed out, fluid, never able to decide upon one solid self-identity, instead forever disillusioned by her past. Even now, ten years after the incident, she still sometimes felt like that image. Like that lost girl.

After what had happened _happened_ , she never really “fit in” anywhere. Eventually, after so many years of failed attempts to “return to normal,” she just came to accept that as her personality. The outsider, an observer, a watcher. She became fascinated with enigmas of the past like the Black Dahlia murders because she could relate to them, they spoke to her. The mystery and intrigue, the lack of closure. It reminded her of herself.

On instinct her hand went down to reach under her pillow, but it retracted when she remembered where she was, and more importantly, who she was with. She craned her neck over to see her, Wanda. Her fiery orange hair set ablaze by the faint, silvery New York moonlight streaking tranquilly through the window. Her shut eyes peacefully prancing around in a dream of her own, or maybe a nightmare. Mouth slightly agape, letting out an endearing, rhythmic snore. MJ paced her breathing to Wanda’s as if she was a human metronome, steadily forcing herself to calm down.

Three beats inhale… three beats exhale… repeat. Inhale…exhale.

Over and over, until her fight-or-flight instinct steadily died and her calves and jaw eased their tension. She knew she’d be up for another half hour or so, then fall back asleep only to jolt awake again a few hours later. Figuring nothing better to do, she let her tiring eyes rest upon the calming visage of Wanda.

The Witch was laying on her side, her arm tucked across MJ’s stomach in a sort of protective stance. She doubted Wanda did it on purpose, but she appreciated it more than she could ever express. She traced the outline of the Sokovian’s body with her eyes, mapping out the shape of her bones, memorizing her curves and edges. She felt a spark deep within herself, the mildest flicker of something that silenced her brain and opened her heart.

“You gonna keep staring at me or do you wanna talk?” spoke Wanda softly without moving.

MJ cracked into a tugging grin. “You’re getting a little too good at that,” she joked, subtly trying to change the subject. Wanda turned slightly further to her side, orienting her face in line with MJ’s.

MJ swallowed a steadying breath, realizing that this discussion needed to happen sooner or later. “Talk,” she answered back.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, her pupils dilating in response to the dim light, the familiar sight of her verdant irises relaxing MJ. She gently brought her hand to MJ’s cheek, the placid coolness of her palm replacing the moist stick of her pillow. Fingers rhythmically stroked the loose hairs fluttering around her ear. Wanda’s nimble digits felt soothing on her scalp, the soft caresses providing the same peacefulness her father’s hugs used to bring. This felt like so many other nights in which the two had spent hours upon hours talking about anything and everything. From the stars, to cooking, to some not so holy things.

MJ could sense Wanda’s compassionate touch coaxing her unhurriedly into the conversation. She was grateful Wanda didn’t ask any invasive questions - try to rush her into it.

“I-I don’t really know how to get this started,” began MJ, her eyes ducking Wanda’s focused yet easy gaze, “but I’ve been having some pretty bad nightmares recently. It always gets worse around this time, but this year’s been pretty rough.”

Wanda stayed silent in response, her eyes unchanging, still staring into MJ’s evasive gaze. She reluctantly met the verdant orbs with her own. The affectionate look brought her a surprising sense of comfort and repose. She often had a hard time meeting people’s gaze, but with Wanda it wasn’t only easy, but welcoming.

Her partner-in-crime’s hand still gently combed at the tresses by her ears, pacifying her. She hadn’t had this conversation in years, and the thought of having to do it all over again terrorized her. She didn’t wanna go back, even if it was just in her head. That was where the horrors resided. But it had been fifteen years nearly to the day now, and she couldn’t keep permitting her fear to govern her.

“I’ve never told you guys this, not because I don’t trust you, but mostly just ‘cause I never felt like I needed to. It’s not exactly a part of myself I like to go and preach to the world about. Not that I’m much of a talker anyway, except with Peter. I just feel comfortable around him, feel like I can relax a litte ya know,” she rambled speedily.

Despite her obvious stalling, Wanda remained patient, continuing to comfortingly solace MJ into opening up. MJ was grateful to have someone so understanding listening to her. Someone who truly heard hear, not just to hear another sob story that they would forget about in a couple hours, but to honestly empathize and connect.

She realized that this needed to happen, for the both of them. She took one last inhale, steeling her mind, then she allowed pandora’s box to crack open.

“Ten years ago, I… I was in our new apartment with my Dad. We had just moved from New York to Indiana. It was late at night, or at least however _late_ late is for an eight-year-old. We had some yummy curry for dinner and my dad tucked me in a while ago. I was up past my bedtime… reading a new book he had gotten me when we first moved there... _The Tale of Despereaux_ , I think. Everything was quiet except for the soft pitter patter of the rain outside, spitting itself against the window. Our building was tucked right next to another, so I couldn’t really see anything outside of the little flashlight I used to read. I had tucked myself under the fuzzy Knicks blanket I had, my young mind escaping off to its own little fantasy world.”

Wanda’s clement digits pressed ever so deeper into her skin as she heard the story unravel. She noticed the Sokovian nuzzle herself in closer, as if trying to protect her from an invisible threat.

The only threat was living inside MJ’s memory.

She saw the little ball of crimson energy spark in Wanda’s other hand. She doubted she was even doing it consciously, she rarely did. It was just the reaction of someone who understands where this was leading.

“I remember as I was getting sleepy, I heard a small clinking noise from my window by the fire escape. I figured it was just the rain outside. But…it’s funny, ya know, when I think about it now… I wonder how I could’ve been so dumb. O-Of course it was something…of course there was someone there. Like why…why didn’t I just check. Just peel off my blanket and take a look. One simple little fucking check might’ve saved me.” She huffed defeatedly, shaking her head at the stupidity of it all. The unpredictability and uncertainty and brutal unfairness of life.

One little check.

Maybe more than any other, she hated how that part of the story made her feel. How unceasingly angry she got at her past self. How it made her feel so regretful and vexed at the young girl she was. Her rage tore through her, filling her brain with negative thoughts, thoughts like an auto-immune disease causing her own cells to kill herself. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way, that it wasn’t her fault. But she couldn’t contain it as the feelings inevitably bubbled over. She decided to just get on with the story.

“Then I heard the muted glide of the window sliding up, the trill of the rain growing louder and louder. That’s when I knew something was wrong. By the time I had found my way out of the blanket, he was just standing there, cold water dripping off him onto my bed. He looked like a monster with his black ski mask. All I could see in the darkness were his beady eyes, glowering down on me...he was just a dark silhouette rising tall, snuffing me out with his shadow. That was probably the most terrifying moment of my life. God it was so scary…” she trailed off, shaking her head. Wanda nuzzled in even closer, the ball in her fingers growing bigger. 

“And then his voice. Ugh his voice was awful. It was a low purr, like a cat. But it just…you know that feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you, when you know that you just aren’t safe…that’s the feeling his voice gave me.”

She shuddered as the feline voice rattled throughout her head, the acoustics of it eternally branded into her brain.

“He held a knife to my throat while his other hand covered my mouth. He told me that if I screamed, he’d make my dad look like swiss cheese…that shut me up real quick. Then he wrapped me back up in my own blanket and lifted me outside, just like that. It probably took less than a minute, but it felt like hours. Horrible, endless hours.”

A decade later and the story still came horrifyingly easily to MJ, as if it all happened yesterday. She always found it funny how memory works. How we forget the things we want to remember, yet the things we want to forget are seemingly etched into our brain for eternity. She wished she could just wipe herself clean of it. Just take some bleach to that tiny portion of her brain and scrape it clean. If only…

“I remember how cold I felt. Even though I was almost completely dry, there was still this harrowing chill in my bones. It’s like… like the further away I got from the apartment, the more of my life was sucked out of me. Sometimes nowadays…I-I wonder if, even at that age, if I knew what was gonna happen to me. If I knew how he was gonna strip me of my soul…so instead of letting him do it to me, I just did it to myself.” MJ paused, goosebumps squirming over her skin. Wanda nuzzled in even closer, pressing her hand to her hip and rubbing sedating circles into the bony skin, trying to warm her up. She was thankful for it, a reminder that she was not alone.

“After that, he dumped me into the trunk of a car, and we drove for what seemed like forever. I was sobbing, shaking. I was sure I’d never see my dad ever again. That my life would end just like that, scared and cold and tired and alone. I think I passed out from fear, or shock, or exhaustion. When I woke up, I was in a lit white room.”

MJ noticed how heavy Wanda’s breath had become. She was trying to hide it, but MJ could feel the warm puffs brush the skin on her cheeks. She was just beholden that Wanda hadn’t interrupted her. Hadn’t let out some dramatic gasp or pitied her with sympathetic words like so many others did, she just listened.

MJ held the break a little longer, allowing her listener to calm herself before diving back in.

“I guess the worst part was just how he tried to make me feel special, ya know. It wasn’t some awful god forsaken hellish room like you see on TV shows. It was pearl white all around, with a little patterned rug on the wooden floor. The bed was nice, almost like a child’s bed, with a floral comforter. When I first arriv- was taken there, the walls were empty. But after the first few days, he put up pictures of me and him together. I think…I _know_ in some fucked up way he wanted me to be his daughter. He always tried to make me feel special, ya know. He would bring me cupcakes twice a week. He would cook dinner for two, and he always fucking scolded me about eating my vegetables. I hated that, hated it so motherfucking much. Not the vegetables, but that he was trying to act like my father. Like I actually meant something to him, or him to me. It was disgusting.” 

She took another deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill the depths of her lungs. Still Wanda stayed patiently silent, her hand still cupping the side of MJ’s profile, the other hugging her hip. Before she got started on the toughest part, she grounded herself in reality. Reminding herself that she was here, in the compound designed by Tony Stark, in a bed with Wanda Maximoff. She was safe here, no one could hurt her.

“Every day was pretty much the same. He would rape me first thing in the morning, then I’d get my breakfast. He always said it was my reward for being such a precious girl.” Wanda’s thumb hitched across its predetermined path when it heard that word, rape.

“Then he would leave for a bit, probably to go work or some shit. When he would come back, he would sit in this lavender plush chair in the corner of the room, and I would sit in his lap while he did my hair and touched me all around. He always talked about how important it was for a single father to know how to do his daughter’s hair. After that there was always a snack, like string cheese or some other bullshit. Then he would rape me again. Then dinner, another reward for being a good girl. Every day, just like that, for twenty days. Just under three weeks. No different in time than any other three weeks, yet it still somehow feels like the longest period of my life.”

Dull tears skittered down MJ’s cheeks, same as they always did when she told this story, to the point that she didn’t even realize she was crying until Wanda wiped them away for her. Her Sokovian partner’s eyes shook and struggled as they welled with tears of her own. She could tell Wanda was trying to be strong for her. Even though it was far from necessary, she did appreciate it.

“One day, God I remember it so well, too well. I was sitting on the ground, playing with the chain that was tied to my ankle. He had given me some dolls to play with on the first day, but I never did. I always just played with the chain.” She huffed in a disgusting turn of humor as she was reminded of her most despised favorite toy. “He came in after work to play with my hair, and when he left to go shower, a small pair of pliers slipped out of his back pocket. I couldn’t believe it at first, I thought it must have been some twisted test he was doing. After the first couple weeks there, I had lost hope. Every…every time he raped me it was like I lost a little bit more of myself, like he was slowly chipping away at who I was. I’d just resigned myself to the fact that that was gonna be my life forever, a brutal existance until the end.”

Tears burst forth silently from Wanda’s eyes, profuse streams channeling down her rosy cheeks. MJ hadn’t realized it, but Wanda had grabbed hold of her hand, and she was squeezing it tightly, securely, protectively.

“So, when this happened, I almost didn’t know how to react. I cried for a bit, not knowing what to do. I thought that if I took them, he would punish me, that he might kill me or my dad. But I also felt like if I didn’t then I might die there knowing I missed my chance to escape. Even once I realized he had actually made a mistake; it was still so hard. If…if I had been there… been his prisoner for longer than three weeks…I don’t know if I could’ve done it. I was _so_ scared. I finally just grabbed the pliers and forced myself to cut my chains off. When he came back in the room, I just swung them at him as hard as I could, then I stabbed toward his leg. I remember his roar, him calling me a bitch, and then I just ran out. It was some cabin in the woods. And I just ran away from it, from everything it meant, all the horrors. I just ran and ran. Even when my eyes filled with tears and I was running blind I never stopped. I remember stepping on an old rusty nail. I remember the pain registering in my body but meaning nothing. Everything, my entire will was just devoted to getting as far away from that shithole as possible.” Her own breath was heaving as she described her escape, as if she was back in the woods, still sprinting on pure adrenaline. “Five miles, I later found out. I ran five miles until I came upon the interstate. The roar of the cars was deafening. It was too much for me to take in after having been secluded for so long. A few cars passed by until one driver stopped hard and pulled over to the side. I remember her face as she got out of the car, horrified, in shock. She told me she recognized me from some posters. Nowadays… I wonder how she recognized me when I didn’t even recognize myself.”

MJ paused, remembering how difficult it was. Those first few days back in the hospital, how much she just wanted to wipe herself clean. To douse her body and mind in bleach, reboot her system. How much she wanted it to just all be over.

“Twenty days. I had gone from a fun-loving little girl to-” she stopped and chuckled in a morbid turn of laughter, “I don’t know what I had become. I had experienced more in twenty days than anyone should have in a lifetime. I had no idea who I was…what I was.”

She finished there, not knowing what else to say. She felt exhausted, like remembering it all was just as bad as having gone through it. She was shaking, the memory of his gravely, low voice beleaguering her. She felt the beads of sweat trickle down her spine like icy racecars, running downwards until they were eventually absorbed by her shirt.

Wanda, being noticeably careful not to spook her, pressed her forehead to her own. Her radiating warmth gave MJ a sense of safety, something she craved more than anything at the moment. Telling that story, even ten years later, made her feel like that damaged little girl who got torn from her apartment all over again. Despite everything she had done to inoculate herself, the hyper observance, the knife and web shooters under her pillow. None of it would ever be able to wipe away the sobering barbarity of what had happened.

“Thank you,” spoke the redhead, crowns meeting as their tears flowed freely. She felt Wanda’s trembling hand spindle around the rear of her neck, rubbing her with tenderness and care like a puppy. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again. I’ve lost too many people… I promise I won’t lose you. I’ll tear them limb from fucking limb if I have to.”

MJ nuzzled herself into the crook between Wanda’s neck and shoulder. She buried herself in it, allowing Wanda’s frame to embrace her, just like the sea of pillows and blankets did in the years after her abduction. She remembered those days. Days when she would lock herself in her room, trapping herself in a castle of warmth and fuzziness. Despite it all, it did nothing to nullify the chill that resided in her bones.

No matter how isolated she made herself, it never made it any easier. But this…embracing others, confiding in them, letting them accept her vulnerability…this did. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say it in the last chapter, but I super recommend the work that inspired this one. It was one of the most emotional fics I've read and has stuck with me long after reading it.

When she awoke that morning, Cassie lay to her right, snoring not so subtly. Wanda was nowhere to be found, something which was hardly the norm in their daily compound routine. She reached over to the emptiness, feeling the slowly cooling warmth under her balmy fingertips. The mild comforts of the bed accepted her as she collapsed back into the cloudly mattress, stewing on how vulnerable she felt having told Wanda everything. She felt exposed, susceptible, like a nerve. And quite honestly opening up to her had been one of the most intimidating things she’s done in the past few years.

But above everything else, she felt utter relief. The impossibility of bolstering this burden was no longer situated on her shoulders alone. And it was all thanks to her, that scarlet haired Sokovian. 

She always admired Wanda’s capacity to empathize with others and make them feel heard, just like she had done last night. And in that heartfelt moment, she knew Wanda had truly meant those words. That she would tear the universe to shreds before anyone else could hurt her. She trusted Wanda, not just with secrets but with her vulnerability. She didn’t feel ashamed to show Wanda her rawest form. She now had someone she could open up to.

And it wasn’t that she couldn’t open up to Peter, contrary to popular belief, he was actually quite adept at handling these situations. He had this way of listening that MJ felt was almost a lost art in today’s world, and he possessed that same innate ability to allow MJ to feel heard. Through the eclectic situations of their relationship, they had witnessed each other at their most frail and despondent. She had broken down in Peter’s arms, and he had done the same in hers. They trusted one another with the part of themselves that most people would never even know about. And she loved him for it.

The problem was, she often felt bad about opening up. It wasn’t because of either of them, just a product of their unusual situation. She couldn’t understand why, but Peter always seemed intent on caring the weight of the sky on his shoulders. A voluntary Atlas if you will.

And even when she constantly berated him to stop carrying every single life in his hands, he still felt compelled to do so. It was because of this she often felt like she had to omit revealing the harder truths to him. She didn’t want to pile on extra weight to his already immeasurable burden. She wanted to protect him like he protected everyone in the city. And she knew it sounded stupid, but love is many things. Rational is rarely ever one of them.

So now, having Wanda was like a release valve. A reprieve from the pressure cooker that is adolescent life.

A gentle nudge interrupted her ponderous thoughts, the oily mahogany door bumping open. In stepped the current main course of her thoughts. Or rather, in stepped the fantastic looking tray of food levitated by ethereal powers. “You didn’t have to-” started MJ.

“I know,” cutoff Wanda, “but I wanted to.” She set the glossy aluminum tray down in front of MJ, one designed specifically for the purpose of breakfast in bed. The dish looked incredible, smelled even better, a deep, rich brothy scent wafting into her mind. “I know how much you love cooking, so…I thought I could teach you a few Sokovian dishes. But… if you want to cook something, you have to know what it tastes like first. So…Paprikesh!”

MJ stared at Wanda in that way that we all do when admiring something truly divine. Something that we know is real and tangible, yet still can’t manage to grasp the concept of. She simply shook her head in disbelief.

“What?” asked Wanda, disappointment ghosting her features.

“I don’t deserve you Wanda” smiled back MJ.

Wanda blushed, a bashful smile exemplifying her cheekbones. “You’re right. You deserve everything and more,” she replied planting a chaste kiss on MJ’s lips, then deciding to hold there longer than MJ had anticipated. She basked in the sensation it gave her. A feeling of hearth, of safety, of arousal. Feelings that eluded her for endless weeks after what happened _happened_. Quite simply, her lips felt universally and cosmically perfect against Wanda’s. Though that hardly stopped her from busting Wanda’s balls.

“Maybe use some Chapstick next time,” she chided as they pulled apart.

Wanda merely snorted as she gently sunk down into the space next to her, her soft heat cozying MJ. She eyed the savory smelling dish before her. It was fitting that the cloudy soup had a vibrant red hue to it. Floundering in the crimson sea was what appeared to be an assortment of vegetables and roots, small chunks of assorted color swimming around the porcelain bowl. She picked up the spoon, ladling a steaming scoop and blowing on it. Out of the corner of her eye, the chef of her breakfast watched her like a hawk as she pulled the first bite between her lips, practically falling over trying to catch a glimpse of her reaction.

She burst into uncontrollable giggles, dropping the spoon back into the bowl “Jesus, what are you a 14-year-old boy in the girl’s locker room.”

“What?” asked Wanda.

“Quit staring at me,” groaned back MJ, “I can’t eat when I feel like I’m being hunted.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just…nervous.” Wanda eased her monitoring, shuffling back _maybe_ six inches, her breath still heavy and neurotic. Her hands danced the Samba, twisting and flipping a ball of energy like she always does when she’s stressed.

MJ lifted the spoon back into her mouth, closing her lips around the cool metal. As she took the first sip, the flavors wasted no time at all before exploding across her mouth. A subdued sweetness permeated her gustatory sense, gently pricking each taste bud as if waking them up. As she continued to chew, subtle notes of spiciness introduced themselves, adding another layer of intrigue to the complex dish. She continued to swash the warm soup around her mouth, crunching on the vegetables before gulping down happily.

Wanda held her patience, refraining from a bombardment of questions, which MJ knew must’ve been hard for her. She looked over to the beatiful girl then mimed puking, doubling over and croaking out a retching sound from her throat.

“Come on,” begged Wanda, brows furrowed cutely, clearly not amused, “did you like it or not?”

MJ chuckled, taking a second to admire Wanda’s incensed face before pressing their lips to together, allowing the Sokovian a secondhand taste of the unique flavors. She nipped her bottom lip, causing the redhead to open her mouth as she exhaled a yelp. She then eased her pressure, encouraging the redhead to glide her tongue across MJ’s soup coated lips, teeth, cheeks, and tongue. The slick muscle swiped deliberately across her orifice, MJ savoring the feeling. Once she felt like Wanda had gotten a satisfactory amount she pulled away, though she easily could’ve stayed there forever. “What do you think?” she replied, tone expecting Wanda to know the answer.

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked you,” Wanda grumbled in response, her eyes slightly dilated from the vivacious kiss.

MJ rolled her eyes, the slightly older woman clearly not seeing the game she was playing. “It was incredible. Almost as much as the woman who cooked it,” she finally answered, feeling pretty happy with herself for thinking of that response on the spot.

“Really?” continued Wanda, a suspect look on her face.

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know, to make me feel better.”

“That’s stupid. You know I wouldn’t lie just to mend someone’s feelings.” Her thoughts reflexively flickered back to Peter. _You’re not lying to him, just withholding the truth. And it’s to protect him, just like he protects you and everybody else_.

“I know. It’s just…I was just...”

“Nervous?” supplied MJ, knowing Wanda’s tendencies. “You shouldn’t be. You’re a fantastic cook.” She emphasized her point by sticking another spoonful of the food into her mouth, the flavors lighting up her buds again.

Wanda smiled graciously, then fell silent. Awkwardly so. This wasn’t the silence they often shared with each other when they simply wanted to enjoy the other’s presence, to vibe with one another. When they would rest on the bed cuddled in one another’s embrace until the rhythm of their breathes subconsciously harmonized. No, this was definitely a _please-hold-for-thinking_ silence.

“What?” asked MJ.

“What, what?

“Why’d you go zero-dark-thirty on me just know?”

Wanda cocked her head.

MJ rolled her eyes, forgetting Wanda’s propensity for uncaught references. Something which was more a product of where she was raised than anything. “Why’d you get so quiet?” she clarified.

“Oh, uhmmm…” Wanda tucked her chin, averting her gaze to the floor. It was moments like these where MJ saw the shyness of the girl. The doubting nature of someone who had been treated as a monster her entire life. She extended her hand, picking up Wanda’s sharp chin. Eventually, piercing green eyes crawled up to meet her stare.

“It’s ok Wanda,” she nodded, her thumb rubbing slow circles in her cheek.

Another smile. “I was just thinking…I wanted to show you these.” From out of the bedside drawer Wanda pulled out a large, brown leather scrapbook. She opened it up in the middle, revealing a page of plastic film filled with pictures of two babies, the names Wanda and Pietro at the top of the page.

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” cutoff Wanda before the question had even fully developed in MJ’s mind. Wanda shyly handed the book over to her, her uncertainty still visible.

MJ peered inquisitively at Wanda, who assuredly nodded in confirmation. She took the thick book in her hands and began to flip through the pages. Several pictures of the twins filled the middle of book, up until they looked to be about age 9 or 10. She then scrolled back to the front, where the first few pages contained photos of what MJ assumed must’ve been Wanda’s parents. They were cute, Wanda looking very much like her father. They made a good couple, and from what she could tell from the pictures they shared a genuine love. A fleeting rarity in today’s world. “Would’ve been a beautiful family,” she let slip before even meaning to. Once she realized what she had said, she was horrified. “Oh God Wanda I didn’t mean-”

“It’s ok,” she interjected with a faraway smile, “we would’ve been.”

MJ stared at Wanda, who stared longingly into the book as if it contained the key that would lead to a door where the rest of her family wasn’t gone forever. As she continued to flip through the translucent pages, Wanda spoke up again to no one in particular. “I think about what it would’ve been like, you know, to have a family. What we would be doing, Pietro and me. I honestly don’t know,” she laughed sadly, the way that only those who have experienced unfathomable pain can laugh.

“I never knew my parents enough to know what we would be doing…I guess…I guess I just really wanted a normal life…everybody always tells me that things happen for a reason. That there’s a reason I have these powers. That they’re a gift.” She looked down at her hands, inspecting them like it was the first time she had ever seen them.

“I know what they’re saying, but they’re wrong. Ever since I got these powers, I lost my brother, the person I loved, and the people I looked up to. What kind of gift is that? A curse, that’s what they are.” Her voice was distant, detached. MJ could feel the affliction of Wanda coming through. Her tone was full of immeasurable sadness birthed from of a life of tragedy. Most of all was the hatred. Or maybe hatred was too strong of a word. Disdain. The disdain she had for her powers, for everything they had imposed upon her.

MJ nudged the tray away, giving them some space. She pulled Wanda’s head in close, resting their foreheads together like they had just a few hours ago. She nuzzled their noses together, feeling the soft skin and spongy cartilage bend against her own. “Have you ever told anyone else that?” she asked, her eyes sealed.

Wanda gently shook her head. “Just you.” MJ felt a rush of emotion surge throughout herself. Knowing that Wanda had entrusted her with emotions and truths she had never shared before; she felt an enduring connection growing between them. Deeper than their friendship and maybe even deeper than love, something that can’t be described, but that can always be felt.

“Thank you,” MJ exhaled as she planted a comforting kiss on Wanda’s forehead, “I know what that means to you, and I’ll always be here for you.” The two fell back onto the bed, completely disregarding the barely eaten meal. MJ pulled Wanda in closer, tucking the Sokovian’s head against her shoulder and resting her chin on her crown, desperate for her warm touch. She skimmed her lengthy fingers across her skin, feeling the shape of her bones, savoring her presence, the bond between them attempting to express itself physically even though it never truly could. They continued losing track of time, losing themselves in one another until Nat called Wanda and Cassie for training.

>>>>

MJ waited inside one of the immeasurable New York subway stations for her train. It was her day off from the internship, so she was headed back to spend the rest of the afternoon and all of tomorrow with her dad. Seeing as it was around the time that people get off from that daily occupation we’re all expected to do yet inevitably will only be mildly interested by, the subway was pretty busy. The meant that MJ was, of course, on high alert.

She tucked her head towards her chest, profile obscured by a hoodie. Her eyes darted about the underground alabaster stone arena, scanning for anyone that could be a potential threat. As usual, she perched herself all the way at the end of the platform, her backpack flush up against the wall so no one could sneak up from behind. She kept her hands tucked in her hoodie pockets, where on the left side was Peter’s portable web-shooter he had gifted her, and on the right was a swiss army knife. Her fingers threaded anxiously, ready for any sudden movements. Out of one ear hung a headphone, yet no music played. She instead listened to the sounds of the station. The echo of trains rumbling underneath a concrete jungle, conversations about everything from what’s on the uptick at the stock exchange to who people are stanning on Love Island. Her ears always scouring for anything that could be meaningful. She had tried listening to music a couple times, tried to drown out the chaos outside and within. But she realized she wouldn’t… couldn’t be comfortable unless she was aware of everything. Unless she had a sense of what everyone was doing and where they were going. Not being in the know, she abhorred it.

In a truly perverted way, it was funny, as these actions completely quarreled with her racial instincts. As a light-skinned biracial woman, she understood her privilege when compared to those of a darker complexion, but she still feared unethical punishment simply due to the pigment of her skin or the kink of her hair. The Trinidadian side of her told her not to wear her hood, lest she want to fit the stereotypical description. Told her to keep her hands out of her pockets, that way there was less of a chance that police would conjure up some bullshit excuse. Although nowadays police hardly needed a passable excuse to kill those that exude melanin grace. Her instincts also told her to not act so shifty and observant, unless she wanted to end up asphyxiated against the ground for “looking suspicious.”

In truth, she skimmed a fine line acting the way she chose to, but it was a line she felt she had to tight walk in order to live comfortably.

When her train pulled up, she made a beeline to her spot, opting for the rear wall of the caboose, where everything was in sight. She always stood, not because it was a short ride, but because she could always be ready to move.

Was all this necessary? Probably not. Did she enjoy acting like this? Absolutely not. But even ten years after the incident, her neuroticism couldn’t be comfortable if she wasn’t prepared. Always prepared.

When she hopped off the train, she began the short walk to her apartment. She despised this part. She detested the sea of crowds, especially in New York. All the clangor from the cars, and the pedestrian chatter. It was overwhelming and frankly exhausting to deal with. On the street, she could never be prepared for everything. It’s too fluid, always shifting. Faces darted across her field of vision. People blabbering to one another or prattling on the phone. She considered herself lucky that she was vertically gifted enough to see over most people. If not, she doubted she’d be able to handle her anxiety. As she stepped along, her grip on the web shooter and army knife in her pockets tightened, her fingernails digging crescent moons into her caramel skin.

When she passed a stationed police car, her body tensed. She knew she shouldn’t, it would only draw attention. Yet the unnerving fear of a bastardized cop subconsciously motivated her to do so. She tried her best to tread past without looking too odd, whatever that meant. Nothing happened.

When she finally arrived at her apartment building, her dad was waiting for the elevator. As she strolled up to him, an old memory surfaced, spontaneously breaking the tide of her conscious brain. It was a melancholy one, her earliest memory of him, but also her only memory of her mother.

She was about five years old, and her mom was planting raspberry kisses across her stomach, her stygian black hair staining her vision as she wriggled around playfully, laughing all the while. Her small hands were swinging every which way, hilariously attempting to stop her mother’s unceasing tickles. She giggled and writhed, screaming adorably out for help. Then from out of nowhere her dad picked her up from behind, flipped her around, and proceeded to continue the work her mom had started, blowing wet kisses into her stomach. She chortled and squirmed, her parent’s hearty laughter filling her eyes.

The day after that, she was plowed through by a drunk driver as she was on her way to pick up MJ from school.

“Hey Dad,” MJ huffed, as if exhaling all the stress of travel and misery of that memory.

“Hey peanut,” he replied before even turning to see who it was. He embraced her in a hug, resting a quick kiss on the top of her forehead. “How was the internship?”

“Oh,” she said, only then remembering all the craziness from the past few days, “it was awesome, I really like working there. Honestly, it’s probably even better than I expected it to be.”

An earnest smile spread across her father’s face. “I’m happy that you’re happy, you deserve it.”

MJ hid a validated smile of her own, then lunged forward and wrapped her dad in a bear hug. A quick look of shock ghosted her dad’s face. He was used to being the one doing the hugging. MJ felt the deep rumble of his lungs as he chuckled heartily, the soft grinding of elevator doors creaking open in the background.

“What’s all that about?” he asked as they stepped inside.

“Nothing. Just…just wanted to let you know I love you.”

He nodded conceitedly, though MJ could discern the underlying glee he was feeling.

When they arrived at their door, there was a pink envelope tucked under the door. Her Dad picked it up. “My Sweet,” he read, a knowing smile slipping onto his face. “Ohhhhhh, someone’s got an admirerrrr,” he teased as MJ snatched the envelope away from him.

“Shut up Dad,” she groaned, making a beeline for her room, excited to hear from Peter while he was on his trip to Wakanda. _He must be having an amazing time,_ she thought, _one day I’ll go there, thank Shuri for baby Stephen A. Smith_. She wondered what multitude of science-y things he and the Wakandan princess were coming up with. Two young geniuses working together could be as much a miracle as it could be a historic disaster.

Inevitably her mind came spiraling back to what she was hiding from him. _I’ll tell him when he gets back…I promise._

She sat down on her bed and carelessly tore the note open, the pink envelope fluttering down across her bed. She did find it odd that Peter had elected the color pink. She and him had this ritual that whenever gifts were exchanged, hers usually came in the black variety, while his was some obscenely bright color like neon green. It had started as a joke after he had given her the dahlia necklace in London, but only grew just as their relationship did. Which made it even more strange when she pulled out a folded light blue piece of paper. She flipped it open, surprised by how small it was. On it, written in capital letters, were five words. “HAPPY 15TH ANNIVERSARY MY SWEET.”

MJ’s blood petrified to lead in her veins, her long digits quaking and shivering like a frightened child as they gripped the slip of paper. A bone chilling iciness invaded the back of her neck, creeping its way down her spine. Her heart thumped like a gong inside of her, threatening to burst free from her rib cage. Profuse sweat seeped down from her pores, the terrifying memories unstoppably barraging her thoughts. Her conscious brain retreated within itself, hiding fearfully from the horrific flashbacks.

With five little words, _he_ had made her feel just as vulnerable as she had been all those years ago. With five words she was reduced to that young, exposed, powerless, petrified girl that had been torn away from her sanctity. It felt like the cement walls of her room were constricting her. Asphyxiating what little sense of safety she felt in her own home. She ran out to the bathroom as the bile crept up her throat, singeing her esophagus. She collapsed against the toilet and retched over and over again. Her body trying to physically absolve itself of the horrors that saturated her brain. The horrors that had been non-consensually branded into her psyche for eternity, the mental damage far worse than any physical torture _he_ could’ve ever concocted.

Liquid the color of trampled autumn leaves exploded from her mouth with the consistency of month-old milk. She didn’t stop until she was dry heaving, her eyes full of tears that stung like killer hornets.

“Good lord MJ are you alright?” huffed her father as he rushed into the bathroom. MJ’s only response was to exhaustedly point at the sky-blue note sitting on the sinktop. In seconds she had gone from riding the gentle high of hearing from Peter all the way to descending violently into the Tartarean pit that existed in the darkest chasm of her brain.

Her father picked it up and read it. “OH God. Oh God no, please no. Not again.” His voice was fragile, overridden with more dread then MJ had ever heard from him. He stumbled backward onto the wall, taking down a towel as a stunned shock overcame him. “I uhhh…I-I gotta call the police,” he rambled, “have to tell them about this.” He pulled his way out of the bathroom, hitting his shoulder against the doorway as he ran towards the phone.

MJ stared down into the porcelain bowl, her yellow-green puke lying in a heap. Her throat felt like scorched earth, and she was exhausted. The pungent stench salted her nose. She rolled over to the side, left arm up on the toilet seat supporting her weight. She lay her head back against the wall, tiresomely focusing on her breath, finding a consistent rhythm. As she did so, her brain slowly began to work again. Though that wasn’t much of an improvement. The thoughts of what this note meant began to inundate her. How did _he_ know where she lived? Had _he_ been watching her all this time and she had simply allowed him to go unnoticed? Had all her precautions been in vain?

With five words she had was sent spiraling. She realized that this was only the beginning of what would likely be a despicable descent back into the underworld for her and her dad. When she heard the sound of the landline, she interrupted her father. “Dad… wait…” she croaked, “I know someone better than the cops.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So this is it, huh.”

The chiseled, modern building stood grandiose before them, it’s smooth pearlescent walls and expansive windows catching the newly risen moon. The ring of young trees honoring the fallen reflected the silvery glow off their leaves, creating a glimmering circumference as if the stars had made their way down from the heavens. Her dads face wore a look of wonder as they strolled up the gravel driveway.

“Yup,” she replied, his hand tight in her grasp, the envelope even tighter. She approached the towering, arched gateway, it’s gunmetal black coating barely visible in the night. It felt strange to be entering in such a dour mood. Her nerves still jittered frantically with the knowledge that he had been watching her, and her paranoia on the trip over had been nearly debilitating. With a shaky voice, she spoke up into the intercom, “Hey uhm, I know I’m not supposed to be here, but there’s uhh… there’s something I gotta talk to you guys about.”

She was met with a prolonged pause. Likely Wanda mentally preparing herself to meet MJ’s dad. Probably also messily putting on clothes.

“Oh uh, you might wanna hold on,” she suggested.

“Why-” her dad was cut off by the dynamic crimson energy encasing the two, sweeping them off the ground and airlifting them towards the compound. “Not a bad commute to work,” he joked as they rose above the immense garden.

She shot him an unmistakable stone-cold serious look.

“Sorry,” he apologized earnestly, bowing his head, “just trying to lighten the mood.”

MJ watched his face as the child-like smile faded hurriedly. _Dammit Michelle,_ she thought, upset at herself for being upset. Her dad had a penchant for poorly timed jokes, but she knew it was always done with pure intentions, and she had always taken them for what they were. But now…with all that was going on. She loathed having to deal with it all again. She hated how it made her feel, how it made her act. Whenever he was brought up, she became this angry, guarded person. Someone who was ferociously defensive, even more so than she already was.

It reminded her of the years immediately after the kidnapping happened. A time when she would actively push people away, all in a bid to try and devoid herself of emotion, of feeling. She understood back then that she was alive, that her heart beat and her brain fired just like anyone else, but it all felt like a lie. It felt like her body had merely been a husk that held someone who had long since been decaying. And in her warped perception of reality she had thought that if she could finally eliminate that decaying person, if she could no longer feel anything at all, that the horrors _he_ inflicted might no longer be able to hurt her. That the road to salvation was self-destruction.

It took her many years to realize how sorely mistaken she had been. And by then many of her mannerisms had already become habitual. Her general abrasiveness. Her outwardly nonchalant attitude towards most anything. Most authority figures in her life got upset at her because they felt like she didn’t care for anything, that she lacked motivation to utilize her intellect and talent. That couldn’t be further from the truth. She did care, she just didn’t like to make a show of it. Because caring draws attention, and attention draws eyes. And when people are looking at you, that’s when you become a target, a victim. So the longer she could stay hidden, working in the background, the better.

And in the years since, she had quietly learned from her past mistakes. She learned that while she could stay hidden, there came a point where it was necessary to let in the people that she cared about. And she had. Peter, Ned, Wanda, Nat, her father. She had allowed them to see sides of herself that in the early years had been entombed six feet under.

But _him,_ whenever she had to relive that time, all the worst parts of her reared their repugnant heads. She hated all of it. Most of all, she hated _him._ She absolutely abhorred his motherfucking guts down to every cell of his godforsaken motherfucking shithole body.

“Yeah, I know,” she apologized, “I’m sorry Dad, it’s just that-”

“I know kiddo,” he sighed, his affirming hand rubbing her back in that reassuring way that only parents can, “…it’s gonna be ok.”

With that, they landed wispily on the balcony of Wanda and MJ’s shared room. Awaiting on the edge of the bed were Wanda and Cassie, their posture serious, as if they could sense what was coming. As the ethereal bubble carrying them dissipated, MJ wasted no time. She hastily introduced them to her dad and vice versa, the grave matter dictating that there was none of the usual fawning from her father about meeting superheroes. Which MJ knew he desperately wanted to, since, well, he loved heroes. _I’ll bring him back,_ thought MJ.

“So what’s up?” quizzed Cassie, “everything alright?”

“Uhm, no…not really,” she sighed, “let’s go talk in the kitchen.”

>>>

“Nat here?” asked MJ as they sat down at the sprawling timber Asgardian table.

“In the shower,” replied Cassie, “should be done soon.”

“What’s the problem?” pushed Wanda, not being one to waste time when it came to emergencies. MJ handed her the fateful message. As she unfurled it, her verdant eyes bloated wide with terror. She glared up at MJ, her gaze brimming with worry. “Is this-”

“Mhm,” confirmed MJ monotonously, staring harrowingly forward.

“No…no…oh no.” Her eyes lingered on MJ, but her focus was miles away. “I…I won’t let him hurt you,” she stammered, “I promised you.”

“I know,” nodded MJ solemnly. Despite understanding that she had potentially the strongest being in the universe by her side, that did nothing to quell the fear and anxiety that bubbled within. She felt like no matter how much protection she afforded herself, there was no shelter from _him_. No one could guard her against her own thoughts. No one could restrain her own hellish memories… _unless_. 

“Sorry, but I’m confused,” probed Cassie, “what’s going on. Won’t let who hurt you?”

MJ met Wanda’s gaze once more, the Sokovian wordlessly asking permission. She didn’t love opening up about this. It was vulnerable and victimizing. She detested the pity parties she could scrutinize in people’s eyes whenever they found out what she had gone through. Even the therapist, who had helped her greatly, had looked at her like _that_ when they first met.

But Cassie had already seen her at her most physically vulnerable, and something about the young girl’s demeanor made MJ trust her. She was rebellious and a little crazy for sure. But MJ was coming to understand it as a sort of veil. She could discern something deeper within her, something that had been consciously shrouded. She granted Wanda permission.

“Fifteen years ago,” spoke the Sokovian gravely, handing over the envelope, “MJ was kidnapped and raped by some bastard. He was never caught, and now…this.”

From the corner of her eye, she still noticed her dad flinch on that word, _rape_. In a cruel way, she had pondered it for so long that the word had become nearly meaningless to her. Something that carried no more weight than “the” or “like.” But her dad, she knew that he hated having to think about it, to picture that image. His daughter, his peanut, being violated by some crude man.

“Were there ever any suspects?” continued Cassie.

“Suspects in what?” came Nat’s authoritative voice.

She peered up to find Nat dressed to relax in loose-fitting, striped long sleeve shirt and grey sweatpants. She looked comfortable and at ease, not at all like the Black Widow often seen on TV. “My case. Fifteen years ago, I was-”

“I know,” interrupted Nat, the quiet nod of her head confirming her statement.

MJ stared befuddled. “ _What_?”

“About your case, I know.”

“But…”

“I’m the Black Widow kid.”

MJ paused, her thoughts ploddingly wrapping around this revelation. “Why didn’tya ever say anything?”

“Not my place. I figured you would tell us if and when you wanted to.” Her voice was so nonchalant, so unbothered yet in the same breath so full of care and compassion. The trademark ease of the Black Widow mingling with her concern for MJ. MJ flashed a warm smile at her. She loved seeing this side of Nat. A side that she had always known was there but rarely ever made it to the forefront. A bubbling sense of adulation for the former Russian filled her. “Anyways, why were we talking suspects?”

“Cause,” explained Cassie, handing over the note.

Nat’s speckled eyes skimmed quickly over the sky-blue slip. “Shit,” she exhaled dreadfully, “Edith, give me the suspects in the Slu- MJ’s case from fifteen years ago?”

“No need,” interrupted MJ’s dad, “Ted Carpenter and Joseph Albeck.”

MJ stalled, the names not resonating with any schemas in her mind. She travelled back to the case, quickly realizing that she could barely remember any of the actual details, the only certainty being that they never caught the asshole. All her memories of that time consisted only of that place. That retched, godforsaken place.

“Where are they now?” asked the petite redhead.

“Ted Carpenter died 5 years ago, and Joseph Albeck has been living in Japan for the past 7 years,” answered Edith.

“It was never them,” added MJ’s dad solemnly, a gut-wrenchingly pained look on his face, the lack of closure saturating his voice.

MJ began to realize how difficult this must’ve been for her dad. When she escaped, she had been far too young to comprehend everything, but now she understood. Her father had to deal with the cops, and probably the media as well. Not only did he have to juggle that firestorm, but he had to do it all while keeping a steady handle on her. It was an ordeal that clearly still haunted him to this day, as the effortlessness with which he had recalled the suspects from over a decade ago was almost scary.

Self-loathing began to well up inside of her, perturbed by the fact that she had forced him to go through all of this, twice now. Perverted thoughts began to sink in, telling her that she had ruined her father’s chance at the happy life he deserved. Thoughts that had crowded her mind in the months after what happened. But then years of learning kicked in, and she remembered what the therapist had taught her to tell herself.

_It’s not your fault. The person responsible for all of this is the motherfucker that likes to violate little kids._ She may have added a couple words since she first learned it.

“This means that sicko’s still out there, doing God knows what,” added MJ’s dad.

“We’ll get him,” spoke up MJ, surprisingly self-assured, “I swear.” She glanced at the note, sitting in Nat’s hand. She made an oath to herself, one she would keep with her final breath. From here on out, she refused to let him hurt anyone else. She couldn’t let another family go through what they had experienced because of him. She wouldn’t.

“Sorry MJ,” came Nat’s voice, snapping her from her trance. Her body language communicated that she wasn’t pleased with what she was about to say, “if we’re gonna find him, the first thing we have to do is get a picture of what this guy looks like, where he might be. So…” she paused, scooping MJ’s larger hand into her own and holding it tight, “we’re gonna need you to describe everything in detail. What he looked like, his voice, his mannerisms, the room where you were kept, anything that might help. You think you can do it?”

MJ swallowed a weighty breath, feeling her father’s comforting palm rest between her shoulders. She nodded, accepting that she was about to go back there, to relive it all for the second time in just as many days. She closed her eyes, and pandora’s box was opened once more.

>>>>

The first thing that came back was the odor. “The room smelled good, synthetically, disgustingly good. Like he was trying too hard to make it feel homely. I’d always wake up smelling a burning candle, and he’d light it again when he got back in the afternoon.”

Even in the guarded confines of the compound the sickly-sweet smell clogged her nose, inhabiting her brain. The unsettling chill in her bones creeped back unencumbered. No matter what actions she took, it always came back so quickly, so easily.

“He was smart, he tore the brand name off the candles so I couldn’t see where they were from. The room…god that room…it was pretty big, about the size of the bedroom’s here. Sunny yellow all around except the wooden floors, walls looked like they had just been painted over. There was an indigo plush chair was in the corner of the room, and a wooden desk set up against the wall, like I was gonna study or something.”

She kept her eyes closed, the room clearly coming into view, like a VR headset displaying it before her gaze.

“The bed, ugh that goddam bed. Rosy floral comforter, thick and soft. White sheets…they were always so fucking clean. Same with the pillows. Always perfectly paper white and fluffy, like a marshmallow, sucking you in and never letting you out, trapping you in their embrace. The mattress was decent, not too firm for a young kid, and the frame had metal posts, that’s where my shackles were anchored to.”

MJ tucked her head, her thoughts rewinding to all the sleepless nights in that hell hole. The constant feeling of existing in a waking nightmare. “God that room. He tried to make it so fucking nice and prissy and perfect. In some twisted way I think I actually would’ve preferred it to just be old and dilapidated, ya know. Whenever I think about it now it’s…it’s like I was trapped in some twisted Alice in Wonderland, Hansel and Gretel bullshit nightmare.”

Just as with Wanda, she didn’t realize tears were streaming down her cheek until she felt a firm finger wipe them away. _Dad_.

“What can you tell us about him?” asked Nat.

She squeezed the bijou hand firmly at the mere mention of _him_. The person that for so long had tried and nearly succeeded in ruining her life. The person who took demented pleasure in her pain, sorrow, and horror. The person who she now promised would suffer at her own hands.

“He’s left-handed, I remember that. Caucasian, not that tall, probably around 5’7. His body was pretty stocky, and I remember he had a small stomach. I mean, I guess a dad bod really.”

It felt odd to describe him. To really have to ponder and focus on what he looked like. Of course, she had always remembered what he looked like, but saying it aloud brought something different. Something she hadn’t felt in fifteen years. 

“I always felt like he worked in construction or something similar. His body was the right build for it, and he was usually grimy and greasy when he got back. He always had that same disgustingly sweet smell on him, like he showered in the candle scent. His hands were calloused and bruised, same for his arms. I remember the feel of them on my body, like coarse little bugs crawling across my skin, trying to weasel their way around me. I would close my eyes and try to imagine that I was just rolling in a field of grass, the blades pricking my skin. Sometimes it would work, but most of the time he would speak up and I’d be pulled right out of it. He…he always called me his good girl, his sweetheart. His voice…” MJ shivered thinking about the low, growling purr of his voice. A voice that for fifteen years has haunted her nightmares, stripping away her peace. 

“It was continuous, but bumpy, like hearing that deep purr from a cat’s body. When he got angry it would turn into a growl. Like a tiger in a fight.”

Remembering his voice was perhaps toughest of all. It was the thing that had controlled her, manipulated and eviscerated her more than any physical tool. She reached her free hand out, searching for another tether of comfort, something to bind her to the present.

“When he would get mad at me, he would put a pillow against my side and hit me with a baseball bat. It hurt like hell, but rarely left bruises. He always lectured me about that. How much he hated seeing me with bruises. ‘A child should never be hurt like that’ he would always tell me. But even then, if he got really upset, he put a shock collar around my thighs. I was so small that the big ones actually fit. He would force me to apologize for misbehaving while he shocked me, over and over again. He always reminded me of his control. Said that this punishment was necessary for my misbehavior, and if I did anything else he would…he’d turn my dad inside out.”

The grasp on both her hands tightened as Nat and Wanda tried their hardest to comfort her. She could feel them speaking through their touch, expressing their sympathy, sorrow, their anger. “I remember a couple times, I uhh…I puked from the pain and… he made me… he made me…”

“It’s ok,” cut in Nat, “you don’t have to say it.”

MJ sighed quietly, that particular memory always too visceral to deal with.

“He forced me to call him papa or daddy, and the chains he used were small so that I wouldn’t be weighed down too badly. He always kept rubber around the shackles so that they wouldn’t chafe and cut me. God he was so fucked up. He…he was so twisted. So sick. I just, I wonder why he did it, you know, why would someone do something like that.”

“Don’t,” offered Wanda’s calming voice, “you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to find an answer. Trust me.” The way Wanda uttered those last two words, MJ understood that she wasn’t just saying that to comfort her, but that she truly empathized with her. _I do,_ she thought to the Sokovian, _I always do_. 

“But yeah, I mean…it sucks but he just looked like your average scruffy, stout white guy. Nothing about him really stood out or anything like that. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more-”

“Don’t apologize MJ, you’ve given us plenty. I know how tough that was. Don’t worry, we’ll find the son of a bitch,” assured Natasha. “If you wanna stay here while-”

“Please,” abruptly blurted her father before steadying his demeanor, “sorry, I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, I know she’s not supposed to be here right now, but…she’d be much safer here.”

“I agree completely,” responded Nat, a parental chemistry on display between the pair. 

“Thank you. Thank you so, so much.” He arose from his seat, a tall shadow casting over the table. “MJ, I’ll call you when I get home.”

“ _Excuse me_!” she spewed sassily, turning a murderous gaze towards her father. “I’m not letting you go back there alone.”

“MJ, I’m not the one that he’s after.”

“Pardon my French, but I don’t give a shit. Fifteen years ago, he told me he’d make you look like swiss cheese, I don’t wanna test him a second time.”

“I’ll be fine peanut. I can protect myself.”

“NO DAD,” shouted MJ sternly, “I WON’T LET YOU. I won’t…” her voice cracked, tears lulling on the cusp of her eyelids, “I can’t lose you too Dad. I can’t. Wherever you go, I go. So, if you want me to stay here then…” she took a deep breath, trying to remain as composed as she felt she could. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, her one constant throughout life.

“Alright MJ, I’ll stay. But, if I am, can I at least offer to cook dinner for everyone?”

“If it’s anything like MJ’s, you’re getting no objections from us,” encouraged Cassie.

MJ plunged herself into her dad’s homely embrace, saying a silent thankful prayer for the family that surrounded her. She felt his large hand compassionately brush through her hair, a kiss landing on the crown of her forehead.

“Oh please,” added her father, a smile already on his face again, “if you consider what MJ does as cooking then you’re in for a real treat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Juneteenth! I wasn't sure whether or not I should actually write something about it, but I feel as though I need to say something in these troubling times. I don't want to get preachy, I merely just want to spread encouragement. As a BIPOC, I urge all my other BIPOC to continue to speak your voice, and learn about the history that wasn't taught in schools. And to all the allies, I also ask you to learn of our history, and that you understand your privilege, and use it as a force for good. We're in the middle of something historic, and I just want to make sure we remember that the fight is far from over.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Ohhhh shit_ ,” moaned Cassie in a borderline sus manner, her chipmunking cheeks brimming with food, a dried streak of the umber curry crusting the corner of her lip. “This is good. Like, really freaking good.”

“Thank you,” chuckled her dad from across the hardwood table, clearly trying to conceal his joy at having pleased earth’s mightiest heroes with his cooking, “just glad I could do something for you guys after you’ve done so much for MJ and I.”

“Oh please Mr. Jones-” started Nat.

“Please, call me Ian.”

“Ian,” she continued, her voice formal yet breezy in a way MJ had never heard before, “it’s really nothing at all. We just want our Sl-…MJ to be safe. And to take another creep off the streets.” For someone who spent decades as a spy, it was adorable to watch Natasha nearly mess up on her name twice. Internal giggles made her bounce as Nat shot a knowing sneer.

Her father nodded understandingly. “Well, thank you anyways,” he replied, tipping his non-existent cap to Natasha. He scooped a spoonful of the mung bean curry onto a bed of rice, precisely preparing his next bite as he always did. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask, how has my daughter been as an intern?”

OHHHHHHHH BOY, if you could see the smile that crept onto Natasha’s face. Hellacious couldn’t even begin to describe the broiling grin. As someone who had come to comprehend Nat’s micro expressions, she was practically frothing at the mouth to spill the beans (metaphorically, not literally). If the curl of her upper lip was any indication, there was a howling whirlwind of details she desperately craved to reveal, though thankfully she seemed to understand she couldn’t. But that smile, that knowing, devilish smile uttered leagues more than her dad would ever know.

“She…has been wonderful,” began Nat, her voltaic blue eyes glaring directly at MJ, “I’m really glad that we brought her on. Life here’s been so much easier for everyone since she arrived, and as I’m sure you can see we’ve all become very well… _acquainted_ over such a short amount of time.” The knowing twinkle in her eyes landed squarely on MJ, the double entendre barely soaring above her father’s head. She could tell Natasha was chomping at the bit to endlessly keep talking, but she thankfully tempered her desires.

“Good, good. I’m glad she’s doing well, and I’m glad she’s found people that she can be comfortable around.”

“Oh yes, she’s very comfortable…it helps that we always try to keep it loose around here. I’m not gonna lie, I was quite surprised, most young adults with a resume like hers are way too overly formal when they start, but not MJ, it was like she had been a part of the group for years already.”

“Yeah well…MJ’s always been everything but formal,” chortled her dad, his matching hazel eyes meeting her gaze, “but I’m proud of her. I really am. She’s all I ever could’ve asked for.”

_Please don’t burst into tears right now,_ she chided herself as that cozy, fuzzy warmth circulated through her. That unbelievably validating feeling of knowing that you’ve done well by your parents. That you’ve earned their respect.

_A feeling that Wanda or Nat never got to feel,_ arose the solemn thought untethered from her subconscious.

“Where’d you learn to cook Ian?” queried Cassie, breaking the paused silence.

“Well… it’s something that I’ve loved since as long as I can remember, which is quite a long-time… good lord I’m old,” his eyes trailed off in the way that old people always do, seeming to flick back through the memories files. “ _Anyways_ , I’ve always enjoyed it. My parents taught me starting at a young age, and when we emigrated here, my dad would often work long nights while my mom would pick me up from school, so I usually ended up helping out around the kitchen. And here I am now _trying_ to teach MJ so she can follow in my footsteps. Of course, things got sent off course when she became vegan. Which since I cook most of our meals means I pretty much got dragged into it,” he annoyedly grumbling though with a jovial smile on his face, “though I can’t resist a good steak every once in a while.”

Despite his god-awful dad jokes, his incessant hugging, and his constant teasing, it was simple times like these were MJ realized how much she loved her dad, how grateful she was to have him. He was unfailing in his ability to effortlessly connect to others, something that MJ sorely struggled with. He possessed this unending supply of infectious happiness, any room he entered immediately awakening with laughter and smiles all around. Especially her room.

Even when she had screamed and yelled and cursed, he had always been there. Through the many tragic moments growing up, from her rape to her mother’s death, he never faded. He never took a day off or had a little too much to drink. He was always there, always looking after her. It was terrifying to imagine what might’ve happened if she didn’t have him. If _he_ had killed him when she was abducted. What type of life might she have been ended up in? Would she become a part of “The Sex Abuse to Prison Pipeline,” that plagues black girls? Probably? Maybe? She didn’t know.

What she did know was that he had been the one person who was always supporting her, loving her, even when she rejected it, when she tried to push him further and further away, he only ever showered her with unconditional love.

A true father.

“So, you’ve been in the US since you were a kid?” asked Nat, dapping her unfastened lips with a napkin.

“Pretty much yeah, I think I was about twelve when I first arrived here. After my grandparents passed, my parents moved here with the American dream in mind. Of course, that didn’t work out like they expected, but they ultimately made it work. They worked hard to keep allowing me to go to a school that was way too good for me. Constantly preached the importance of education, something that I hope MJ understands,” a cheeky grin crossed his face. “And yeah it was tough at times, but we were usually happy so…can’t really complain. Although when I introduced them to MJ’s mother…ohhhh, that was a debacle.”

Nat wore an amused smile on her face. clearly wanting to hear said story, though MJ was grateful that she didn’t ask, knowing that that was a touchy subject for both of them.

In the end it didn’t matter though as, surprisingly to MJ, he proceeded. “I met her in college, and when I brought her back to meet my parents, I told them her name and where she was from. What I didn’t tell them was that she was half-Swiss. Now my parents were pretty accepting right, but they were also pretty traditional in some other regards.” His smile only expanded as the words percolated, that all too often seen nostalgic look glazing his expression. “I still remember the look on my mom’s face when she opened the door. OHHHH man, right then and there I practically dropped to me knees and started praying that she wouldn’t scare off Cate. Wasn’t the only time either. I definitely spent my fair share of nights wondering what my parents were thinking about her. _But_ …eventually… after the first few months they saw Cate for the beautiful soul she was and came to accept her into the family. Funnily enough my mom and her became quite close after a few years. So I guess my prayers that day were answered, cause five years later I married her. Then two years after that a little rugrat was born. And then…”

His face held on dearly to the bliss of the past, and MJ could tell the story had reached its abrupt end, his eyes quickly misting over as he silently pondered the next chapter of their short-lived partnership. “I’m sorry,” he apologized with a crack, swiping away the trembling tears with the back of his hand, “didn’t mean to lay out my life story and kill the vibe.”

“It’s alright,” accepted Nat, reaching behind her for the tissues, “everyone at this table’s been through a lot. We know how you feel.”

“Thank you…you guys really are too kind...especially now that you know where MJ gets her _obvious_ flair for the dramatic from.” And just like that levity was exhaled into the room as the others chuckled.

She looked opposite the table. Her dad laughing as he wiped away the sadness, his dreads bouncing with each huff of air, spreading the laughter to those around him. Wanda, Nat, Cassie. All people who have faced loss and grief, just like she had. And there he was, still radiating joy, spreading it thoughtlessly. All this despite it being the first time he’s ever been around them.

His eyes caught MJ’s staring. “What’s wrong peanut?” he asked, head quirking.

There was a lot wrong. Her rapist had been back on the hunt for seemingly a while and was clearly watching her. Her (at best) mixed feelings about what she was hiding from Peter continued to constantly gnaw at her each and every day. And there was another feeling that had been bugging her for weeks now that she’d rather not address. Yup life was kinda shitty right now.

But as she sat here, in this moment, surrounded by friends and family, by people whom she loved and loved her back, she genuinely felt pleased, fulfilled. Life was absolutely a shitshow right now, but for this singular moment, she was unabashedly happy.

“Nothing Dad,” she spoke, those words usually coming out dry and meaningless, but today sincere and heartfelt, “nothing at all.”

>>>

MJ strutted down the hall where her dad and she were to share Peter’s room. The others had all thought that to be the most appropriate option, though at first they offered Nebula’s since it’d hardly ever been used, but then they realized, it’s _Nebula_.

As MJ carried herself down the glinting, silvery hall, her subconscious nagged that she take a pit stop at a very familiar door, knuckles landing with a polite rasp.

“Hang on MJ,” came Nat’s dulled voice. A couple moments later the door swung open, the redhead’s showery hair worn loose, pretty lips greeting MJ with that comforting, stabilizing smile. Natasha possessed this way about her. An aura of calm and steadiness amongst the turbulence of life. She was a tree rooted into the depths of the earth, and while that sometimes came back to hurt her, it made her an incredible mentor, and source of strength in times like these.

“How’d you know it was me knocking?” questioned MJ.

“Strength of knock. Preferred beat. Shadow you cast under the door.”

MJ shook her head in amazement. For someone who considered herself observant, she had nothing on the ex-spy.

“So were you just looking to talk about door knocking patterns or…”

“Right,” focused MJ, embarrassedly brushing her hair over her ear. Despite having done many intimate things with Natasha, she still sometimes found herself starstruck. “So uhm, how long did you know?”

Nat nodded as if she expected this conversation, gently propping the door wider, leading MJ into her minimalistic room. She sat down heavily on the side of her bed patting the space beside her, motioning for MJ to join. Plopping down next to the ex-Russian, she stared out the window to the faraway cosmos of the New York skyline.

“I’ve known ever since you and Peter became a thing,” she started, patting her hair dry, “I like to do my research on any outsiders that might potentially be brought in. Nothing crazy, just a quick background check to see if they have any red flags. Usually just keep the info to myself unless anything jumps out at me.”

“Did I?” inquired MJ.

“Did you…?”

“Have any red flags?”

“Oh yeah for sure. Let me see…I believe it was long legs and sexy ass shoulders.”

MJ snickered, shaking her head while giving Nat a healthy helping of faux exasperated side-eye. “You didn’t tell anyone?”

“Like I said, it’s not my story to tell. I just get the info to see if you’re a potential threat. If your not, then that’s that.” A pensive crease of her lips fleeted across her reflection in the oversized windows, “I used to deal in whispers, but that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

Her eyes tugged to face Nat directly, marveling at the character of the redhead. “How’d you do it, ya know, decide to be better? I wish I could do something like that. I-I-I have all these beliefs and I go out and protest and all that stuff and I know I’m doing what’s ‘good’ but… I don’t know, it just feels like I could do more. I just…I want to be someone better.”

Natasha shifted further onto the stiff bed, dropping her upper body comfily onto the sheets. She let out a pondering exhale, and MJ empathized.

“It’s funny actually… I honestly kinda got lucky. Clint, he was sent to kill me, but then he made a different call. Decided not to judge me by my worst actions. Then when I got this job, got a second chance as a part of this family, I realized that I no longer wanted to work without a cause. So much of my life had been spent hurting, I just…I felt like I needed to help others. And I was surrounded by people who were one way or another looking for that same thing. For redemption. And it carried on from there. That was really it. It wasn’t some grand, momentous, life changing decision. It was just something that every day, I tried to be a little bit better than the last. On and on and on for almost two decades, even today. And tomorrow I’ll just try to be a little bit better.”

Nat slid in close, wrapping her arm around her shoulders and pulling her towards the bed. Deft fingers rubbed lazy circles into her shoulder blade, the solidifying presence of her personality extending to her touch. “But you, you’re _so_ young. Yet here you are already looking to improve yourself. That’s incredible. And I know I’m biased but you’ve already got an amazing group around you to push and support you, to keep you in check. Their love, their solace, use it MJ, they truly are a blessing.”

A chaste pair of lips landed on her temple and MJ melted into the caress, nestling closer to Natasha, her own arm draping across the redhead’s stomach. “The most important thing is you can’t stop trying. Every morning you have to promise yourself that you’re gonna try to be better. And honestly, most days it’s not gonna feel like you accomplish it, but you’ll never fail as long as you continue to try. Cuase life is gonna do its damndest to tear you down, take everything away, especially for someone who looks like you…but it can’t, it won’t, not if you keep pushing.”

MJ nuzzled herself even closer, snugly resting her head on Nat’s warm shoulder. She allowed herself to be helmed by the redhead’s guiding embrace, sage words landing on attentive ears. “And MJ the trauma…please don’t let it go. I know what you’re trying to do, I can see it. It’s what I did for so long. Tried to erase it, run away from it, leave it in the past. I spent so many years as so many different people trying to escape the trauma that I lost sight of who I had become. Who I was trying to be.”

MJ instinctively closed herself down, she didn’t wanna hear this. It was tough to listen to, though only because it was true. It was the hard verity that she had blissfully ignored. So she forced herself to listen, it was time she face the sun. “That thought that you’re having about Wanda, wondering if maybe she could erase the memories from your mind, it’s something I’ve wondered about so many times since I met her. But good or bad, you should never try to hide a part of yourself. Those walls you’ve built and masks you’ve put on, you might think they’re made to keep everyone out, but they’re really made to keep yourself in. Trust me…I know how hard and how scary it sounds, but you’ve got to get rid of them. MJ…the measure of a person is how well we succeed at being who we are. At accepting ourselves with all the strengths and especially the flaws. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, promise me that.”

MJ peered upward as a trickle rolled onto her face, a lulling stream of dry tears rolling down Natasha’s cheek. Her crystalline blue gaze stared up into the emptiness of the ceiling, face as stoic as ever. But MJ could see the fractures beneath. The sadness, the pain, the remorse, the guilt.

“I promise,” she replied.

That galvanic gaze turned down to look at her, haing comfortably curled into Nat, a toned arm now gliding up towards her temple. Her messy brunette tresses were brushed with an earnestness that MJ had never felt before. Nat’s bruised hands sinking impossibly softly into her locks, pacifying her worries. Sleepiness lullabied her thoughts, and she wished she could just enter subconsciousness like this.

“Good,” finally came the answer after a long pause. A nurturing kiss landed atop MJ’s crown, lips resting for a while, as if to make sure the promise stuck.

Another pause cut through the room, though it wasn’t awkward, far from it actually. The two connected through the silence, discovering each other’s rhythms. The beat of her heart, the tempo of her breath, the pace of her hand stroking her hair. She had opened up to Natasha, and the redhead had responded with wholehearted candor. She had approached the room on a gut feeling and was leaving with a greater sense of self. They had connected.

“Bet you never thought you’d be able to do that huh?” teased MJ, realizing she would have to depart at some point.

“Do what?”

“Kiss the top of my forehead,” she explained as she stood up tall.

“Actually,” retorted Nat. In the blink of an eye, she swept MJ’s legs from out under her, her ass landing solidly on the floor. Her Queen straddled her from behind, hand wrapping commandingly about her chin. “I can do it whenever I want,” she whispered as she lay another kiss on the same spot. “Now run along.” MJ stood up, swallowing her budding sense of arousal as she obliged Nat’s command.

Heading down to Peter’s room, it dawned on her how important that budding sensation was. While to the outside world it might appear as an obvious, miniscule thing, to her it was a testament to progress. For years after the incident, her engagement in relationships had become so awfully warped. Whenever those metaphoric butterflies that movies endlessly discuss materialized in her stomach, they would immediately be snuffed out by the scars of what _he_ had done. Anytime an opportunity to develop a sort of bond had presented itself, the horrors of _him_ came rushing back, permanently tainting any chance of a relationship, friendly or otherwise.

So the fact that despite everything happening now she still felt some small sense of arousal was massive. She had overcome. _He_ no longer had control of every single aspect of her life. For the first time ever she felt like she could truly see the light at the end of this decade-and-a-half long tunnel.

She was surrounded by people who loved her, who were willing to help her. And she was motivated and determined to find this guy. One way or another, her life was soon about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I discuss MJ’s sexuality as she was growing in the end of this chapter, I felt that it was important for me to address this. Sexuality and romanticism are such complex and for most of us difficult things to navigate as we grow up and figure ourselves out. I’m not gonna pretend to be an expert on sexuality or romanticism because I’m not, but I just wanted to say that for anyone reading this who themselves is struggling with their sexual or romantic identity, no matter where along the spectrum you are, I love you and I support you. And I will always continue to support you as you discover yourself (flaws and all) and that beauty that continues to exist within each of us. Go be the person that you are.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is still from MJ's POV, but there are brief moments where we jump into Nat's POV.

When MJ awoke up for the third and final time that night, she needn’t move to sense that her dad was missing. The lack of his weight on the bed was obvious, as was the absence of his puffing breathes. “DAD,” she called out not even fully awake, voice still scratchy and hoarse.

“Edith lights on.”

She glanced around the illuminated room, stepping out of bed to peruse the bathroom. Still no sign of him. “DAD,” she called out again, trepidation growing. Despite knowing how secure the compound was, worry began to permeate her gut. Her pulse slowly rose as the scenarios sprinted through her mind. “DA-”

“Ms. Jones,” cutoff Edith, “your father left the compound earlier this morning. I believe there is a note on his pillow.”

MJ looked back over to the bed, where there was indeed a slip of paper lying atop the pillow next to hers. _Had to leave early. Got caught up in everything, forgot I had to pay rent. I’ll be safe, be back soon. Love you._

She sat down on the side of the bed, upset that her dad had risked going back alone. “Edith what time did my dad leave?”

“6:03 AM”

“And it’s…?”

“7:23 AM”

“OK”

“Is everything alright Ms. Jones?”

“Yeah yeah, it’s…it’s good. Could you just let me know as soon as he gets back?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks.” She strolled out into the hallway, headed towards her sanctuary aka the kitchen. Sweat still beaded her forehead while her heart drummed dimly in her chest, the unease of worry just starting to shed off.

“Everything alright?” came another groggy morning voice. She whipped around, finding a disheveled looking Cassie, she too strolling towards the kitchen.

“What? Oh uhm yeah, nothing to worry about.”

Cassie paused to look at her, seemingly analyzing whether or not she believed her. The younger woman was pretty even in her current state, maybe more so. She had a refined casual look to her. The type of face that sticks out in a crowd, yet when you try to define it, you can’t put your finger on it. A very natural, easy going appearance.

“You wanna actually tell me what’s going on?” she asked again, clearly not pleased with the first answer MJ had provided.

“No seriously it’s all-” Natasha’s words rang through her head: the walls, the masks. She took a deep breath. “My dad had to go back to the apartment this morning. It’s nothing serious, it’s just that…when what happened _happened,_ he had to go through so much ya know. Dealing with the police and the press and all that shit. And now, I…I just don’t wanna put him through that hell again. He already…after my mom, then the abduction, then dealing with me after the rape, he’s been through so much, he doesn’t deserve to have to deal with this again.”

Cassie gently walked up to her, a hand landing on her shoulder. MJ was surprised by how assured he touch felt. It was the touch of someone with twice the life experience Cassie should’ve had, certain and knowing yet compassionate. She stared into Cassie’s mahogany eyes. Those too amazingly calm, soft and easy with an incredible amount of self-confidence.

“First off, it sounds like you’re blaming yourself for your dad having to go through this. It’s not your fault, it’s that fucking psycho sicko rapist’s fault. Now I’m not gonna pretend to know what you’re going through, I don’t. But I do know how to deal with dad stuff. When the Decimation happened, I thought I lost my dad. Just like that. Gone. One day he’s there, had just finished his house arrest, I was so excited to spend time with him and Hope. I had so much family around, and I was filled with all this love and innocence. Then…poof. Gone.” The sadness and despair in her voice was palpable, the experience in her eyes and touch making more sense with every word.

“But you know what was one of the first things he said five years after I thought I lost him: ‘I couldn’t lose you, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. After five years, when everyone thought he was dead, he was there, still worrying about me.” Cassie shook her head in disbelief at the notion, her grip tightening on MJ’s shoulder. Big brown orbs stared into MJ’s soul, conversing with her on a higher level.

“What I’m trying to say is, no matter how much we try, our parents are always gonna worry about us. Whether it’s something small like our grades, or something a lot, lot bigger. And…as much as we might sometimes feel like it’s unwarranted concern, the best thing that we can do is to just love them as much as they love us.”

She nodded slowly, digesting Cassie’s surprisingly sage words of advice. For someone who looked so innocent and wholesome, Cassie had huge amounts of depth and levity. “I thought I was supposed to be the older one here,” she joked, embracing the Californian in a hug.

“Yeah well, we both gotta support each other.”

She smiled, still unsure of why the universe blessed her with such incredible relationships, but nevertheless grateful for each and every one of them. “You up for some breakfast?” she asked.

“Fucking always,” replied Cassie with a grin.

>>>

“He’s back,” came Edith’s artificial voice.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked me to inform you when your father returned, he just has.”

“Oh ok, thanks Edith.”

“It’s my programming, but you’re welcome.”

As she waited alongside Cassie, cumbersome footfalls and heated breaths arrived before he did. As he turned the corner, he had a look in his eyes that she recognized all too well. One she hadn’t seen since… “Oh god Dad, what’s wrong?”

“The apartment. It…It was trashed.”

“WHAT?!”

“Our beds were ripped up. The cabinets…everything torn apart. The walls…” His voice trailed off solemnly, the way it did back when MJ used to have to force him to open up about her mom.

“What Dad? What about the walls?”

“H-He wrote on them.”

“What’d he write?”

“Peanut I don’t think-”

“What’d he write!?” growled MJ, anger bubbling, nails digging into her thighs.

“I’ll get you again…my Sweet,” answered her father.

She could hear _him_. His speech echoing through those disgusting words, worming into her ear, entombing themselves in the pits of her mind. His voice as feline and dreading as that night he stood dripping over her.

“What’d ya-”

“I got back here as soon as I could.”

Her breath thickened, ears roaring with years of repressed anger. Rage erupted out of her like she hadn’t felt in years. It flowed through every artery, fired through every nerve, dripped through every pore. She was sick and tired of this guy. Tired of living in fear of him, of letting him control her life for so much longer then he should’ve. Fifteen years he had reigned over her, and now he had the audacity to ruin her place of sanctity. No, enough was enough, she was gonna end it, by any means necessary.

“That son of a BITCH, I swear to God I’m gonna hunt his ass down and PUT HIM IN THE DIRT!” she roared.

“MJ, peanut, calm down.”

“NO! He’s had dominion over me for too long. Now he thinks he can come back into our home and trash it. FUCK NO, this is it. This is where I put my foot in the goddammed sand.” She stormed off down the hallway, doorways springing open to see what was happening.

“Edith. Give me control of the satellite,” she demanded.

“I’m sorry Ms. Jones, you don’t have that authority.”

“RAHHHHH,” she roared vexingly, storming into Nat’s room. “NATASHA,” she boomed with such gravitas that even the fresh-off-her-morning-swim Widow was taken aback, “give me control of the satellite.”

“I-I…uhhhmmm…” for the first time ever, Nat was speechless confronting MJ.

“Give me…control,” she ordered again.

The fire in her eyes must’ve been livid, because Nat yielded without any further encouragement.

“OK,” started MJ, “Edith give me all the nearest cameras to my apartment, as well as the ones from the subway stop I get off on.”

By nature, MJ was a generally determined person. When she set her mind to something, it typically got done. But what was happening right now was on a different level. Her rage, her vengeance, her hatred, they motivated her. It felt like her entire life had just become tunnel visioned to this singular goal, catching this some bitch. Within a few seconds, multiple different camera feeds popped up against Nat’s wall. “Perfect, there’s one on the street.”

“Of course there is,” interrupted her father, “why do you think I chose that building.”

MJ looked over; her hellfire rage temporarily abated by gratefulness for the countless sacrifices her father made towards her. Always protecting and caring for her.

Another habitual pang of guilt struck her as she felt responsible for sending him through this grinder once more. Self-hatred ate at the fact that he was having to deal with this for the second time. Twice too many times than anyone should have to in their life.

But then she remembered what Cassie had told her. _The best thing we can do is love them_. Instead of getting angry at herself, she allowed her immense affection for him fill her mind. Adoration slowly began to wash away the remorse, her body soon following suite and relaxing. “Ok, Edith,” she exhaled, “rewind to 6:00 PM last night. Get rid of any women, people of color, or anybody over 6 feet tall.”

Edith obliged her commands, rewinding the tape and digitally discarding any women, non-colonizers, or vertically blessed people. “Ok now play it back to me at four times speed, up until my dad enters the apartment this morning.”

She stood before the screen unmoving, tense arms crossing her lithe body, breath heavy, eyes darting around desperately trying to find _him_. People scurried across the screen, none of them approaching the building nor the fire escape. Her senses truly must’ve been on edge, because she could actually notice Natasha creeping up behind her just before the words hit her ear.

“Is it bad that I’m extremely turned on right now,” whispered Nat. The tiniest of smiles broke across MJ’s permanent scowl as she stood there watching the film.

“Could he have gotten in through the roof? asked Nat, keeping her position close to MJ.

“The roof door locks from the inside, so he would’ve had to have broken in,” explained her father.

“Edith,” started Nat, “check the satellite for any heat signatures on the roof from between six PM and six-thirty this morning.”

“On it,” answered the AI.

_How’d she know when my dad left?_ MJ wondered.

“Is there any other way he could’ve gotten in?” quizzed Nat.

“Not that I know of,” replied her father, “nothing underground as far as I know.”

“No heat signatures detected,” cut in Edith.

“So he’s gotta be on the tape,” concluded her dad.

“Not necessarily,” thought Nat aloud, stepping back from behind MJ, “don’t you guys have alarms on your fire escape.”

“Yeah, I turn them on when we’re away or sleeping,” answered her dad

“So if that’s the case, how did he get into your apartment without setting off the alarm?”

“Well he could’ve gotten in through the door. But that means someone either let him into the building, or-”

“He lives in the building,” mumbled MJ, the horrible truth dawning on her. As the tape spilled into early this morning, no one who resembled the man had entered their apartment. Not even anyone by the alleyway fire escape. Minutes later on the film and her dad entered the front door. “That’s gotta be it. No one like him goes in or out of the building until you did this morning.”

Disgusted by the thought, she turned away from the camera feed, pacing along the foot of Natasha’s bed.

How long had he been there? Living so close to her. Probably watching her every day as she went to school, waiting for her when she came back. How long had he been planning this? Had he ever climbed down the fire escape to watch her as she slept? The thoughts made MJ double over, retching onto the floor, the acidic burn torching her throat. She dropped to one knee, her body continuing to expel itself in pure revulsion of this revelation. She felt a tender hand catch her back. _Nat_.

“I’m ok,” she grumbled once she finished, more upset about causing a scene than anything. She nudged away their endearing rubs, not wanting to waste any time. “Edith can you pull up a registry of all the tenants in my apartment.”

“Ms. Romanoff?” asked the AI.

“Do it,” responded Nat without hesitation. MJ turned, shooting the redhead a quizzical look. “She still needs some higher clearance for the not so legal stuff.”

MJ smiled graciously. Another sacrifice for her. “What about the security cameras though?”

“Oh that,” Nat chuckled, “everyone does that, it’s practically legal.”

In scarily quick time, a list of names appeared accompanied by photos of identification. She scrolled through the list, not seeing _him_. Names and pictures passed her gaze, some she knew, others she didn’t even remotely recognize. A couple minutes later and hope began to ween. _Maybe we were wrong, maybe he doesn’t live her._

But then her blood froze over. Paranoia slithered down her spine, his voice echoing in her ears.

There he was.

“ _Him. Trevor Thompson,”_ she spoke, her voice distant. She mulled on this for a bit, a certain unnervingness filling her bones upon hearing _his_ name. It’s not something she had ever given thought towards. She always remembered him, his voice, his scent, how he looked, how he felt…but she never cared about who he was. Hearing his name, from her own mouth, it made her feel…she wasn’t quite sure. Names are such an innately human quality, but to her, she didn’t know if this man had any human qualities left. At least she didn’t want to believe it.

Staring down the eyes that haunted her dreams for a decade and a half, she could feel the pair behind her, similarly eyeing at the man who had permanently scarred her. The heat of igniting rage bubbled once more, determination sharpening. This was their lead. Now it was time to hunt his ass down.

“We need to go to the apartment right now,” she barked, “check it out and see what we can find. Dad you haven’t called the cops yet, right?”

“No, why?”

“Good. WANDAAAAA! We have to go! Nat, get ready we’re leaving.” MJ’s voice exuded authority and command for the first time in…well, ever.

Surprising even herself, Nat unquestionably followed MJ’s orders. She scurried into the bathroom, slipping on some more outdoorsy clothes, before reemerging a minute later with her backpack already on.

Seeing as her dad was quite unaware of their relationship, hearing MJ talk to what he thought was her boss in such a way must’ve shocked him. “MJ,” he cautioned, “you…you can’t talk to your boss like that.”

“It’s fine Dad, come on let’s go.”

“But-”

“DAD come on,” she grumbled, “WANDA, where are you?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” she said groggily. She still wore an oversized maroon shirt and black sweatpants, a look she picked up from Natasha. In all her tunnel vision MJ was pulled away by how simply beautiful Wanda looked. “What’s up?” asked the younger redhead.

“Uhmmm…we uhm…we need to go to my apartment,” she stumbled.

“Now?”

“Yeah,” she answered, her focus rebounding.

“Alright just give me a sec.” The staunch redhead jumped back in her room, then reappeared a couple minutes later. “Alright, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with,” spoke Cassie, seemingly appearing from nowhere, already prepped to leave.

“I’m not gonna fight you,” murmured MJ.

“Alrighty then,” said Wanda, holding her hands out, “hold on to your butts.” The crimson fluid surrounded them, lifting them up and carrying them out of the compound. They floated above the massive lawn, hurriedly approaching the iconic city skyline.

“So this is what it’s like,” gawked her dad, “flying, I mean.”

“Breathtaking I know,” muttered Wanda, “I think that’s why we always come here to relax.”

Her words led to an awed silence as everyone paused and admired it. The buildings rushing past them as they swooped through the air. People below virtually unaware of them a few stories above. It was an impossible feeling to describe, nothing in human life even coming close. Though MJ had experienced it a few times soaring over the compound garden, those couldn’t stand to this. This…this was magical.

“We should probably talk to the landlord after searching your guys apartment,” cut in Nat, taking charge of the situation, “they might know something about him, maybe even get them to let us into his apartment.”

“I could just unlock the door,” pointed out Wanda.

“Better to not risk a daytime B-and-E if we don’t have to,” surmised Nat.

And just like that they arrived at her apartment building, her dad unlocking the main door. They hurriedly filed into the elevator, barely squeezing in.

“Are we gonna fit?” asked Cassie.

“Not sure,” replied Nat, “I think MJ’s a little too big.” She shot Nat a teasing sneer as the elevator doors rumbled shut.

“He’s probably not here, but everyone stay sharp,” chided Wanda, the faint glow in her hands never dissipating. The silver gates rumbled back open, and with a few steps, they were greeted by her door.

As Nat swung it open, she followed behind in step. She was immediately flooded with disgust, shock, sadness, anger, and any other word to describe anguish. It was ruined.

Cabinet doors were torn off their hinges. The cooking equipment had been butchered. The walls ferociously mangled. Shattered glass was like an ocean across the floor. The furniture…the ancestral couch…mutilated. “To remember our home”, her Dad would always say, and just like that _he_ had ripped it away. Everything was completely and utterly desecrated.

She cautiously stepped over the reflective shards, pain and heartache filling her body as she assessed the scene in further detail. Her home for a decade destroyed in an instant. Nauseated, she made her way to her room. “Nobody touch anything,” spoke Cassie.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered defeatedly, “he’s not dumb enough to touch anything with his hands.” Chipped wood bristled her fingers as she nudged open her door and slipped inside her room.

It was no longer her room.

Shoulders slumped in sickened defeat. It’d been ravaged worse than any other part of the apartment. Nothing was left untouched, an unrecognizable heap taking the place of what used to be her oasis. She flopped back onto the defiled wall, collapsing down to the floor in distress. She sat motionless, a single point of eerie calm in the disaster. Her eyes welled with helpless tears. Her point of sanctuary in the entropy of the world gone. Ruined.

Raped.

She buried her head in her hands, the tears flowing out uncontrollably. The self-induced darkness did nothing to comfort her, only providing another avenue for her memories of _him_ to make their way to the forefront. They flowed into her consciousness just as easily as the tears flowed from her eyes. _His_ smell, _his_ touch, _his_ voice, everything.

She yelled. As loud as she could. Trying hopelessly to mentally push him out. Absolve herself of _him_. She roared and yelled and bellowed until her throat became sore. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?

She heard someone burst into the room and drop onto their knees. She felt a hand on her back. Soft, soothing, empathetic. _Wanda_. “Hey. It’s ok, it’s ok. Shhhhhh…shhhhhhhh. He can’t hurt you…I won’t let him. It’s ok MJ I’m here, I got you…just listen to my voice.”

The calming tone began to break through the hyperventilating rush of her ears. She let it fill her head and consume her thoughts. Memories of them overriding the memories of _him._ Remembrances of binging Netflix or playing stupid board games or talking endlessly into the night.

Steadily, her rampant breath began to stabilize. Slow in, easy out.

Wanda’s hand on her back rise and fell in time with her breathing. Her mind slowed, going blank with Wanda’s voice, wiped out from the effort of the hyperventilation. She once again fell into Wanda’s embrace, allowing the Sokovian to comfort her.

“Come on. You don’t need to be here any longer. Let’s go,” cooed Wanda. She felt herself get picked up by Wanda’s powers.

“No,” she replied, weakly at first, but then again with more conviction. “I can do this. I have to.” She stood up slowly, rising to her feet. Rising up above the fear. “Come on, let’s talk to the landlord.” She slowly made her way out of the apartment with Wanda and her father in tow.

>>>

Her knuckles rattled politely on the landlord’s door. She had never spoken more than a few words to her, but she knew via her dad that she was a nice person. Definitely not one of those grimy, greasy types that you see on TV. When the door swung open, the first thing she noticed was a nice lowkey office with a hint of natural lavender.

“Oh, MJ, Mr. Jones. How can I help you?” spoke the blonde woman in an upbeat voice. Her freckled face was cute, and the dimples in the smile made her appear much younger than MJ knew her to be.

“Hi,” greeted MJ, “I uhhhh…I’ve got some questions about one of the other residents.”

“Ok…” she replied, seemingly unsure of where this conversation was heading.

“Alright, yeah. Umm. Do you know a Trevor Thompson?”

“I’m sorry can I ask what this is about?”

“Yeah sorry I guess I should’ve…” her voice trailed off, “there’s no easy way to say this but I…I think that he raped me and that he lives in the building.”

The landlord’s eyes went wide with shock. For a good five seconds she seemed to be unsure of her surroundings before quickly resettling. “Ummm...wow. That’s a uh, a big statement. I’d love to help, but have the police been notified, are they involved.”

“No, but-”

“I’m sorry,” cut off the landlord curtly, “but I’m gonna need official help if I’m gonna divulge personal information like that.”

“Oh, ok.”

Her father’s presence stepped in behind her, “call Natasha,” he whispered to Wanda at the back of the group. “Hello Ms. Smith,” he started in his official business voice, “sorry to intrude like this. If you could just give us a second, I think we have something that will convince you.”

“Alright, well if you don’t mind, I just have to fax some documents.”

“Of course,” he responded with a smile.

The smaller woman bounced back into her office, though noticeably less bubbly and cheery. Her father leaned in close up against her side. “Ms. Smith was in New York when the battle went down. She was trapped in a school bus when Natasha helped her out. Ever since then, well, she’s become sort of a superfan so to speak.”

_Hmph, that’s all?_ _One saved me and I fell in love_.

“You called,” came Nat’s out of nowhere half-whisper, indicating MJ’s heighted senses had dulled. Her dad not being used to this nearly jumped out of his pants, MJ giggling softly at the wide-eyed look in his eyes. 

“Yeah, landlord said she needed official help if she was gonna show us documents, and you’re the most official person we know, plus she’s kind of a fan sooo…”

“I get it.”

“Ms. Smith,” called MJ’s dad, the doorway widening.

“You were able to get an official that-” her voice stopped working as eyes landed on Natasha. Saying she was starstruck wouldn’t even begin to describe it. The small blonde froze, for so long that MJ genuinely began to worry. After nearly a full minute, her brain finally seemed able to process what was happening.

“You’re…”

“Natasha Romanoff, nice to meet you,” said Nat, offering her hand.

Ms. Smith limply grabbed the outstretched hand, her eyes still focused squarely on the shortest of the women.

“You…You…You…” she stammered.

“I’m not _that_ big a deal,” smiled Nat, attempting to calm the woman with good old self-deprecation.

“You…you saved my life. I’m _here_ …because of you.”

“Well, just doing my job, trying to be a better person, all that good stuff.”

“Yeah. But…y-y-you SAVED me.”

“I just gave you the assist, you’re the one that kept on running.”

“Wow...” she murmured in awe, “you’re incredible.”

“Thank you, so are you.” Hands still connected via weak grip, she stared awkwardly at the landlord, waiting for her response. Realizing Ms. Smith wasn’t in any position for further speech, she cleared her throat. “Anyways uhm…about Mr. Thompson?”

“Oh my god yeah uhm…come on…come in,” she wheeled, flinging the door fully. MJ, Nat, and her dad slipped into the office while Cassie and Wanda stayed outside. Ms. Smith started up her desktop computer, MJ deciding to not draw attention to the Black Widow pencil sitting on her table. “I’m sorry, by the way, about the rape and having to ask about the cops and all that. It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that, well…I have to protect my residents first and foremost.”

“Completely understand,” replied MJ, “I’d expect nothing less.”

“So, if my memory serves me right, Mr. Thompson does live here. I believe for the past two…let’s see…yup two years now.”

“Huh,” huffed MJ, her mind at work. Both her and her father had dusted away, and before the snap they had been living in the same apartment as now, being one of the few lucky enough to pretty easily restart their lives after the five-year intermission. This could explain how _he_ had found her. After they had “died” it would’ve been easier for _him_ to find information about them.

“I’m sorry to ask,” spoke up the landlord, “but how sure are you he’s…you know…”

“Totally,” MJ assured, “I’ll never forget _him.”_

The landlord nodded understandingly, turning back to her desktop.

“Is there anything you can tell us about him? Has he maybe mentioned a child.” probed Nat.

As she spoke MJ began to realize how much easier it was becoming to do this openly. Yes, it had been difficult to force herself to address the rape, but having done so around people she trusted, it was becoming easier to speak about it openly to anyone.

“Yeah, I guess it’s not true now but he seemed like a nice guy,” started Ms. Smith, “always said hi and chats with me, kinda charming I guess. Drives a pickup truck. Now that you mention, I think during one of our chats he did bring up having lost a child before. I always found it strange, he would buy stuff for kids and bring it back to the apartment. I always figured that maybe he was getting ready for an adoption or something, but now…”

The gut-wrenching thought hit all of them at the same time.

“Maybe he has another girl,” finished Natasha, her focus far off. MJ knew Nat had a soft spot for abducted young girls, no doubt thanks to her own life experience.

“If that’s possible, then we have to see his apartment right now,” MJ asserted.

Ms. Smith nodded in agreement, snatching a set a set of keys and taking off for the door. They hopped into the elevator, leaving Wanda and Cassie behind to guard the front exit in case _he_ tried to make a getaway.

MJ’s heart plummeted as they arrived at his door. Tucked underneath was a pink envelope, same as the one she had received. She cursed under her breath, angrily tearing the paper open.

“Good try, but I’ll always be a step ahead my Sweet. I know you better than you do yourself…”

She roared in anger, chucking the paper into the air. “Goddammit, how’d he fucking know?”

“He probably figured we would find out after he vandalized your apartment. If he’s been watching you like he says he has, then he knows that you’ve been spending time with us and would have access to that kind of tech,” explained Nat, placing a calming hand on her shoulder.

She annoyedly shrugged off the hand, tired of people trying to comfort her. “Dammit! Now what?” The roar of rage in her ears was crested. She was angry, yes, but more importantly she was frustrated. Fifteen years. She could feel it, the weight of it all. All her heightened paranoia and fear coming to an end, she wanted it so desperately. But here _he_ was, still denying her a sense of closure, of rest.

“Now, we search the apartment, see what we can find,” guided Nat carefully.

“Come on, we both know there’s nothing.”

“Maybe,” chimed her dad, “but we won’t know for sure unless we do.”

MJ groaned begrudgingly, her two parental figures speaking logically while she wanted to act on sheer emotion.

“Wait a sec. If he does have another girl, he’d need somewhere to keep her. There’s not a lot of places in New York where that’d be easy,” he deduced.

“Good thinking,” answered Nat, genuinely impressed by Ian’s deductive skills, realizing where the young woman derived some of her characteristics. “Shipping yard or a storage center might be easy for him if he’s in construction.”

“Alright then, I guess we search the apartment, see if there’s anything that might give us a clue,” she concluded.

The jangle of keys was proceeded by the depressing of a lever, the door identical to their own opening. She paused as Nat, her father, and landlord all entered. She took a suppressing inhale, readying herself for what she might face.

As soon as she stepped inside, her body crumbled in juvenile terror. She backed away, an unnatural sense of disgust and dread overwhelming her, sprouting from her bones and crawling across her skin. “No, no, no I can’t,” she cried horrifically. She spun away, eyes filling with tears as she collapsed into a ball on the ground. “I can’t. I can’t!”

“What’s wrong peanut?”

“I can’t go back here. I won’t.”

“Whadya mean _go back_? You’ve never been here before.”

“This is where he kept me. OH GOD no I can’t.” Her body shivered in fear. The smell, the walls, the rug, the fucking bed. She knew this couldn’t be _it_ , but this was the room where he had kept her.

Nat paused, the scent wafting into her nose. A sickly-sweet, manufactured smell. “Sick fucker,” she whispered, her own anger rising, “he made an exact replica of where he kept MJ.” She scanned around, empathizing what it would be like to be trapped, knowing only this one room for twenty days. She knew the feeling all too well. Too many knew the feeling all too well.

MJ’s cries breaking her heart, she turned to Ian, “You wanna take her downstairs? Ms. Smith and I can search the apartment.”

He nodded in agreement, scooping up his catatonic daughter in one fell swoop and carrying her over to the elevator.

>>>

As they rode down the elevator, getting farther away from hell on earth, MJ shallowed her breathing, matching the rise and fall of her father’s stomach. As they reached the ground floor, she wriggled herself out of her dad’s arms, continuing to lean on him for support.

As soon as the doors opened, MJ saw Wanda’s crescent blue eyes soften. She could picture what she looked like just by reading Wanda’s demeanor. In just a few months she had come to understand Wanda so deeply, so inherently, that expressions were all she needed.

The Sokovian rushed in, tucking herself under MJ’s other shoulder, taking the load away from her dad. She appreciated the support, though she was fully capable of walking on her own.

“You alright?” asked Cassie.

“We think he might have kidnapped another girl, could be holding her in a shipping yard or storage center,” she answered, not wanting to speak about the room, not yet at least.

“Jesus,” exhaled the youngest member. “Any idea how we can narrow it down.”

“Nat and the landlord are searching his apartment right now,” answered her father, “I’m gonna head back up, see if I can help.”

She stared blankly at the floor, the implications of this newest development truly dawning on her. “How many others,” she wondered, leaning gently on Wanda, elevator doors closing in the background.

How many other girls had he taken, raped, manipulated, abused. How many others constantly had nightmares of _him,_ of his voice, his smell, his touch. How many had suffered because she wasn’t able to help the police enough.

Her back rest uneasily against a wall, harrowing thoughts enveloping her mind.

She was spiraling into herself when Wanda’s beautiful eyes caught her own. “It’s not your fault,” whispered Wanda, “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not true. You did everything you could, just sometimes the bad people get away.”

She focused on the Sokovian, her face inches away from her own. “It’s not fair, he shouldn’t be able to get away with this.”

“That’s why we’re here to stop him,” Wanda assured. Her gaze continued to hold those oceanic eyes, getting lost in their serenity. “Don’t say it,” exhaled Wanda softly, “you do deserve me.”

“How’d you know-”

“Had that look in your eyes.”

“You know me too well Maximoff.”

And for a split-second MJ wanted to do something she had done hundreds of times but also never done before, because this one would be different. Wanda’s eyes searched her own, her heart racing as that feeling spilled out from her gut, tugging towards the Sokovian.

Then suddenly the elevator doors dinged open, and she was saved by the bell.

“That was fast,” said Cassie.

“Found what we needed quickly,” replied Nat, her father in tow.

“You actually _found_ something,” perked up MJ, pulse slowing.

“Mhmmm, he works at the Oscorp shipping port on the East side.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“It was weird. There were pliers near the side of the bed, had the port address on them,” explained her dad.

“It’s a trap,” responded MJ without hesitation.   
  


“What?” asked Cassie

“The pliers. He left them there on purpose. When I escaped him, that’s how I did it. He accidentally left some pliers, and then I used them to break free.”

“Why would he lead us to him?” questioned Wanda.

“I don’t...I don't know.”

“Let’s go find out,” called Nat, marching out the building.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word of warning, this chapter gets pretty graphic in its descriptions.
> 
> Again mostly from MJ’s perspective but brief Wanda and Nat mixed in.

Taking off from their apartment, they made haste to the port. From her bird’s eye view the scene didn’t seem all that busy, mostly scattered swathes of movement strewn across the large area. Titanic cranes hefted shipments off of floating cities, towers of crates stacked atop one another creating a multicolored metropolis of metal.

Landing in the center of the maze, MJ realized that down on the ground the place felt absolutely desolate. It was so expansive that it seemed like they could go ten minutes without seeing another soul.

“Wanda, MJ, Cassie. You three take the right half,” commanded Nat, “Ian and I will search the left half. Heads on a swivel. Try not to engage, we don’t wanna spook him. Call if you find anything.”

Understanding nods were shared before splitting into their teams. 

Pacing under the midday sky, minutes of eerie quiet passed, only the faraway noise of metal grinding against metal filling the ocean air. They wandered through the rows, loomed over by the large shipping crates, columns of them extinguishing the sun.

The only thought that held in her mind was that this is the perfect place for someone to watch you. The same thing seemed to be crowding Wanda and Cassie’s thoughts, the silence among the trio tense, physiques engaged, on guard for any surprises. Nothing had been spoken for about twenty minutes, Mj’s eyes constantly shifting back and forth, up and down, flitting to the smallest signs of movement.

Out the corner of her eye Wanda’s trained hands danced with a small crimson ball, nimble fingers twirling nervously. Even Cassie toyed with something between her digits. A small metal frisbee with a red blob in the center rolling through her fingers like a coin. She wasn’t quite sure what it was but figured it had to be a weapon. Her own hands were tucked into her jacket, fiddling with the swiss army knife and web-shooter. Practiced movements twitched the corkscrew in and out, not even needing to see it to use it.

As they continued their sweep, someone finally appeared on the shadowy horizon.

He was a tall, stout dark-skinned man with a bald head. Despite her usual skittishness and his imposing figure, MJ wasn’t too unnerved by him. Perhaps it was his passing resemblance to her father. Or maybe it was his slow and tempered movements. Regardless, he didn’t strike MJ as an immediate threat.

When she read his expression, it was only then that she realized how out of place the three of them must’ve looked. He tilted his head and furrowed his brows, face contorting as if trying to solve a complex problem. “You three alright?” he quizzed with a heavy southern drawl.

They shiftily glanced at one another. Nat had instructed them not to engage, but just ignoring this man would only set off more red flags. “Yeah, we’re just looking for someone,” explained Wanda, taking the lead.

The dark-skinned man shifted again; another variable introduced to the problem. “Might I ask who?”

MJ was caught off guard by his demeanor. He carried himself with a calmness and sense of knowing that she didn’t expect from him. In some odd way it reminded her of Natasha. Which is why against all logic she answered, “Trevor Thompson.”

The weight of her two partners glares bore through her as the man began to speak up. “Trev should be on break right about now. Probably find him by the HQ down over there,” he said, pointing in a general leftward vicinity toward a large boxy grey building. “He in some kind of trouble?”

“No,” replied Wanda quickly, not giving MJ another chance to speak, “we just need to talk to him.”

The man gently nodded with understanding before turning his body so that the three women could pass. There it was again, that relaxed cadence of movement.

_Where do I know that from,_ she thought as they took off down the row, guided by the columns of massive crates leading toward the HQ. The rich salty smell of the bay was undercut by a pungent trashy scent, the soft lapping of waves drowned out by the churning of cranes.

“Thank you, by the way,” came the southern voice from behind them. They all turned around, unsure of what the man meant by that. She noticed his eyes landing squarely on Wanda.

“For what?” asked the Sokovian.

The man pulled down his lower lip, revealing a blue hued tattoo on the inside. Wakandan. Wanda opened her lips to speak, but then seemingly decided against it, instead just nodding gently in newfound understanding.

_That’s where I knew it from…a spy_. MJ nodded thoughtfully along with Wanda, her understanding for this superheroing world growing.

“We should keep moving,” urged a shifty Cassie, the trio eventually marching onward to her rapist.

As they approached the bland boxy building, Wanda once again took command, “Cassie, you and I take the lead, MJ stay behind us. He led us here, so there’s definitely more to this.” Her voice was rife with protection, the usually shy in public girl exuding an aura of leadership.

When Cassie swung open the glass doors, MJ was greeted with possibly the most stereotypically drab looking setup she’d ever seen. It looked like someone had been asked to design the building, forgot about it until the last day, and just said… _meh_.

Two open doored offices flanked either side of an extended hallway, each with a busybody typing away on their computers, unaware of the three women doting down the hallway. The end of the hall opened into a large locker room, soft chatter and a light stench of sweat wafting over. If Trevor was here, this is where they’d find him. Apparently, Wanda had shared the sentiment, the ball of energy blazing in the palm of her hand.

Stepping through the archway, they were greeted by an empty row of dull silver lockers. The chatter came from the right, while rubs and clicks of changing came from the left. “Cassie you take left, I’ll go right, MJ stay in step.”

“I can handle myself,” she grumbled, appreciative of the protection but also annoyed by it. She wasn’t some lost puppy. 

“Stay in step,” repeated Wanda with a growl, leaving no room for debate. She begrudgingly obliged, following in lockstep as they split from Cassie, strolling casually so as not to draw attention. As they passed the columns of monotonous lockers, they were met with nothing but emptiness. The soft chatter grew louder as they neared the right end of the room, a burst of raucous laughter filling the drowsy air.

Wanda ushered her just short of the final column, instructing her to stay here and yell if anything went bad. Expecting a show of some superhero-y stuff, she not at all anticipated what happened next.

Her hands neatly tucked at her front, MJ watched as Wanda straightened her posture and strode out into the open, head glancing around as if she were inspecting the area.

“Can we help you?” asked a rumbling voice.

“No,” answered Wanda, barely acknowledging the group, “just here with the city for an inspection, pay me no mind.” Her voice was noticeably fake, at least to MJ, any usual undertones of her accent non-existent.

“Aren’t dressed like you work for the city?” questioned the voice.

“Are you telling me how I should dress,” she snapped, indignation simmering beneath her calm voice.

“No,” replied a panicky voice, “not at all Ma’am.”

“Good.”

“We didn’t get any notice of an inspection for today though,” piped up a much stiffer voice.

“I’m sure I sent it,” she dawdled, once again turning away and “inspecting” the dull area. “Perhaps your bosses just forgot.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” grumbled the lower voice.

“Anything you need?” asked the other, clearly hoping to not blow the faux inspection.

“Actually…I was looking for a Trevor Thompson, do you know where I could find him?”

“Trev checked out early today, couple of hours ago I think.”

MJ cursed under her breath, she hadn’t necessarily expected to find him here, but she hoped that this wild goose chase would at least lead to something. _Maybe Nat’s having better luck_.

“I see,” replied Wanda, gaze quickly shifting to check up on MJ, “well…thank you.”

“Don’t you wanna check the lockers?” asked the heavier voice.

“First how I dress, now you assume to know how I should do my job?” she snarked back quickly.

“No…no Ma’am…I didn’t mean to…my apologies,” he stammered hurriedly.

“Good.”

With her performance complete she strutted back towards MJ, carrying herself with that air of superiority that all inspectors possess.

“Wow,” whispered MJ, a thought that definitely was not appropriate given their situation wading in the back of her mind, “that was um…nicely done.”

“Thanks,” smirked Wanda, “Nat’s taught me a little bit about undercover work.”

“Fast learner,” complimented MJ, strolling back to the hallway, Cassie already waiting for them. “Find anything?” she asked.

“Just some surprised looks on partially naked guys. You?”

“Some guys told Wanda he bolted a couple hours ago,” explained MJ.

“Shit. Where could he go, not back to his apartment right?”

“We can’t be sure,” cut in Wanda, “but we know he’s not here.”

Dejected, they sauntered back down the lengthy hall. Just as the glass doors slung open, something caught MJ’s nose. A nauseatingly familiar scent that just barely permeated the air. It was enough though.

Scanning, she found it on the windowsill, the candle not even lit yet the stench still concentrating in her mind. She didn’t even need to see it to know. A single waft made her want to expel her stomach. Picking up the cylindrical canister, she eyed the labeling sticker. It looked odd, like it had been altered or redone.

“What is it?” questioned Wanda.

“ _Him_. It’s another clue.”

“Why’s he doing this,” asked Cassie.

“Cause he’s a sick fuck. He wants to show that he’s smarter than us…than me. That no matter what I do, he’s always a step ahead. That he can control me.”

“Good,” spoke Wanda, “he’s upset that you escaped the first time. He’ll get showy, and he’ll make a mistake.”

The label was unusually thick under her finger. Nudging it, it began to peel, revealing another slip of paper beneath.

“5601 Foster Ave,” read MJ, “that’s Brooklyn.”

“Whatya think is there?”

“Could be where he’s keeping the girl,” MJ said,

“You think he’d risk letting us know that?” asked Cassie.

“Let’s find out,” she huffed marching out the door.

>>>>

Wanda set them down in an alleyway across from a expanse of uniform grey. From what she saw MJ guessed the building to be a storage facility, which meant that this was indeed probably where the girl was.

Crossing the street, she stole a moment to ready herself for whatever she might see. It’d likely be something similar to his apartment, if not worse. But she had to do this, if not for herself than for all the others he might have hurt.

The five of them strutted into the office, two redheads, a mixed girl, a Californian, and a Trinidadian. Like the start of a bad joke.

Relaxing behind a crescent desk was a frail framed man who didn’t seem to be all that into what he was doing. He laid back lazily in his chair, eyes barely peeling away from his magazine to glance at them. Based on his initial reaction, MJ already didn’t like this guy. His eyes perked up when he saw the four of them belonging to the better sex, and he had a Ramsay Bolton grin to him. He immediately straightened out his horribly beige uniform, setting aside the glossy magazine and slicking back overly greased hair.

“Wanda kill the cameras,” whispered Nat, some of that not so legal stuff she discussed with her probably about to happen. The faint crimson glow emanated around the recorders, snuffing out their view.

“How may I help you ladies,” crooned the man, his teeth creeping out through an overly wide smile.

“We’re looking for Trevor Thompson’s storage unit,” spoke Nat, taking a demonstrative step forward. Her tone was steely and unwavering, clearly not wanting any of them three to have to deal with this slime ball.

“That’s protected information hun, I can’t just be giving that out to anybody.”

Nat set her jaw, not even attempting one of her classic disarming smiles. “First off, _don’t_ call me hun,” she tempered, hands balling into fists by her side “and secondly I’m not just anybody. I’m-”

“Oh, I know who you are _sweetheart_ ,” cooed the man, pausing on that word. _Oh shit_ , thought MJ, hoping Nat would at least leave him breathing. “But like I said, rules are rules. Can’t give you access to that unit…well…unless-”

Before the last hissing “s” even left his lungs, Nat’s fist flashed so quickly that MJ wasn’t even sure it had happened. The only proof was the now unconscious man lying in a heap on his chair.

“Smug bastard,” muttered the former Russian, hopping acrobatically over the desk, kicking the rolling chair not so gently into the wall. She stood tall over the desktop computer; fingers CLICK CLACK-ing on the keyboard.

“I see why you like her,” whispered her Dad.

“ _What_?” MJ huffed back, a little overly concerned.

“As a boss. She’s pretty badass.”

“Oh…yeah, the ultimate badass” replied MJ, upset at how obvious she had made it that there was more to their relationship than just being her boss.

“Storage Unit B24,” piped up said ultimate badass, “it’s over this way.” Nat snatched a set of keys from the man’s utility belt, the rest of the group following behind as she took the lead.

They walked silently down the maze-like hallways, each one identical to the rest. The building wore a deathly quiet, the soft pelt of their shoes against the tile floor the only sound other than the humming of the lights. At the final hallway, Nat took a right turn, stopping at the last door of sheet metal.

“Of course he’d want the one farthest from everyone,” muttered Cassie.

Nat heedfully tucked the master key into the lock at the bottom of the navy-blue metal door, turning it cautiously. With a quick nod to the two heroes Wanda readied her powers while Cassie lowered to a fighting stance. Gripping the handle to the doorway Nat counted down on her fingers:

3…

2…

1…

She yanked up the door, the shutter of metal filling the hallways. Incandescent white light flooded the room. MJ wished it hadn’t.

“Oh god…” muttered Natasha pulling out of her stance, visibly shaken by the grotesque scene that greeted them.

The squeamish squelches of her dad retching onto the floor emanated from behind her.

Cassie turned away and crashed into Wanda, burying her face in the Sokovian’s shoulder as a horrified wail scratched her throat. “Why…” she sobbed over and over, utterly distraught.

MJ’s heart sank into the deepest, most calloused pit of her stomach. Everything else disappeared as she stared in wide eyed horror, pure shock and awe ridding her system of any other emotions. It was the most horrific scene she’d ever witnessed.

Desolate grey walls were smothered with frantic ashen scratch marks. Tucked into the farthest corner was a thin bed with rusted metal posts, pure white pillows and sheets gashed with frenzied streaks and spatters of rich, oozing crimson. Over the foot of the bed hung a chalky hazmat suit; globs of the shadowy gore tinging its haunting entirety, streams of the viscous maroon dribbling onto the floor. Above the bed was frenetic writing, scripted in large bloody strokes for everyone to see. THIS IS FOR YOU.

Displayed in the epicenter of the gruesome room, duck taped to a splintered wooden chair sat a young mahogany skinned girl, no older than eight, stark naked. Bruises ranging from royal purple to fleshy red lacerated her nubile skin, crisscrossing her malnourished looking legs. Hellish burn marks dotted her macilent arms and torso, areas of her skin resembling the flesh of rotting fruit. Every inch below her chest was caked in pools of ripe blood, tendrils of the visceral fluid snaking down abused calves leading to an abhorrent pool soaking the soles of her cracked feet. A crass, unprofessional cut ran from her abdomen all the way to her hips, staples holding the desiccated skin back in place. Earthy brown eyes were held strained open by a speculum, staring lifelessly forward, piercing MJ’s soul. Withered lips hung agape, still shrieking in agony. Just past the threshold into hell lay a long fleshy tube, indentations railroading its substantial length. Taking a step back, MJ realized what it was. Portrayed in the poor soul’s small intestine, were two words. MY SWEET.

MJ stared…and stared…and stared. Even once her dad resorted to dry heaving she stared. Even when the Black Widow turned away in disgust, she could only stare. She couldn’t help but memorize the scene before her, the sickening grisliness of it scorching itself in her mind. She gazed into the girl’s sterile eyes, a mirror of her own. She pictured her suffering, her desperation, her fear. Muffled screams echoed in her mind just as they had through the room, drowned out by the piece of duct tape that hung limp and moist from her cheek.

How long had she been kidnapped? Weeks, months…or had she been living like this for years? What was her name? Who was her family? Did she even have a family that cared for her, or was no one concerned that she had been taken?

As much as MJ didn’t want to, she took a step inside. A resistant hand landed on her chest.

“Let me,” spoke Nat.

MJ took the hand in her own, grasping it as tightly as she could. Her lifeline in this house of horrors. “I need to do this,” she answered.

As she and Nat stepped in, the smell slammed into her like an eighteen-wheeler. Her skin writhed as the stench of blood and viscera fumigated her attuned nostrils. It was a harrowing smell, one that would haunt her nightmares forever. It scratched and clawed itself into her senses, just as the sickly-sweet smell of the candle had.

She scanned the room. The chafed marks littered the entire lower half of the walls, deep excoriated crevices that painted a petrifyingly clear portrait of the young girl’s horror. She pictured herself as the girl, clawing uselessly at the walls, terrified of what might become of her life in _his_ hands.

The mattress was thin, and now that she was closer she could see that blood was not the only thing that stained it. MJ wished she didn’t, but she knew exactly what those stains were…exactly what _he_ had made her do. The urge to crawl into a ball creeped up her spine as the memories fought to burst free.

Small holes had been picked at in the side of the mattress, little tufts of fluff spread out on the ground below, probably in a heartless attempt at playing. Fear sparked in her stomach, expanding slowly throughout her body. She feared what he had become, the atrocities he had forced this girl to endure. Fear that was overwhelmed by a debilitating guilt.

All of this was her fault.

If she hadn’t escaped in the first place, this girl probably wouldn’t be here. How many other innocent girls suffered because of what she did? How much blood was on her hands?

“He doesn’t care anymore,” she spoke to the vast horrors.

“What?” asked Nat.

“When he had me, everything was clean and nice, like a house. But this,” she motioned to the ghastliness of the room, “he doesn’t care about it anymore.”

Nat nodded solemnly. She had never seen her like this, with horror in her eyes. She was rattled.

“Spit it out,” she ordered, sensing Nat was biting back her words.

Nat’s head dipped slightly, the way it always did when she was about to say something she’d rather not. “After you escaped, he probably broke. If he had lost a daughter, and then lost you who was a pseudo-daughter in his mind, he probably felt like he couldn’t keep treating them nicely, that instead he had to punish them to keep them in line.”

“So if I hadn’t-”

“NO,” cutoff Nat sternly, “you did the only thing you could’ve done. You fought like hell to escape him. This isn’t on you MJ. This is no one’s fault but _his_. And we’re gonna make sure he serves his justice.”

It was now her turn to nod solemnly, the words coming through clear as day but the underlying guilt still burgeoning. “How many do you th-”

“Don’t…” shushed Nat, squeezing her hand, “don’t go down that rabbit hole. Just focus on catching him, making sure that she’s the last.”

MJ stared at the back of the girl’s head; her kinked, dry hair knotted in splotches of curdled gore. It horrified her how much she looked like MJ had at that age.

Walking around to the front of her, her shrieking face stared back into her eyes. Her pain and sorrow visible even after death. She dropped her head in defeat. All those nights ago she promised herself that no one else would get hurt by him…and she failed. Totally failed.

“Wanda?” came Nat’s voice.

The Sokovian had led a hysterical Cassie and Ian down the hall, away from the horrifying stench and dreadful sight, yet she had returned. The barbarity of death was nothing new to her, although even this was bordering extreme.

She stepped in the room, using her powers to pick out the scroll that lay at the back of the girl’s throat, also removing the devices from her eyes, allowing them to rest peacefully.

Grasping the saliva tinged piece of paper, Nat tugged off the tiny cloth bow, unraveling it carefully. “I miss you so. I hope you like my gift,” she read.

The words echoed in MJ’s head in that godforsaken purring voice, each one injecting rage into her mind, the red mist of anger shrouding her judgement. She was already determined, on a war path to apprehend this piece of shit.

But now she was seeking vengeance. Vengeance for this girl and all the others her may have taken.

Tearing the piece of paper from Nat, she stomped out of the storage unit. She was gonna find him and make him suffer just as this poor girl had. She was gonna wrap her hands around his neck and slowly watch the life drain out of his eyes.

She was gonna kill him, and nothing was gonna stop her.

“MJ…” came Wanda’s sincere voice as she stormed down the hall, “MJ wait, where are you going?”

“To kill him.”

“MJ stop,” followed Nat’s voice, a little more sternly, “you don’t even have a plan.”

“Find him. Kill him.”

As she turned the corner, a large, tender hand grasped her shoulder, halting her blazing rage. “MJ,” her father pleaded exasperatedly, “you said you couldn’t lose me… I can’t lose you peanut. I can’t let you risk rushing in like that. I know you’re angry, and I can’t imagine what your feeling. But I know that I can’t let you die, because you’re the last piece of me that I truly care about. And I…I can’t lose you. Not again…”

Swelling, quivering eyes stared back at her dad, past his goofy exterior and into the man that had raised her. The man she had grown dependent on. The man who even when she pushed him away, continued to unceasingly love and support her, no matter how hard she made it. She broke down in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. She cried and cried and cried, expelling all the heartache, the fear, the pain and anguish and terror. Everything.

She was safe in his arms. No matter what he tried to take away…as long as she had her father that was all she needed. Because her home, her true home, was right here, in his arms, just as it always had been. 

She could’ve stayed there forever, but the man at the front began to stir. The grinding of metal echoed as Wanda broke the lock, disfiguring it so that no one would be able to access it. As they darted back towards the entrance, Nat tossed the keys back into the creeper’s lap.

>>>

Back at the compound, they all sat around the table, none of them with the stomach to eat. Laid across the wood was a small assortment of manila folders, pictures, and a few other documents. All the pieces of information they had acquired on Trevor Thompson, which MJ hated to admit wasn’t much.

“How are we gonna get him?” asked Wanda.

“Well we can’t wait for him at the apartment or else we’ll spook him,” replied Cassie.

“Probably isn’t even there anymore,” added Nat, “he knows we’re onto him. For all we know he could be gone.”

Brutally honest words silenced the room, a stark reminder of their failure.

“So that’s it…he beat us?” grumbled MJ’s dad.

“No.” MJ couldn’t accept the thought of him running free again. _Whatever it takes_ , she thought. “There’s no way that we’re gonna be able to get to him, so he’s gonna have to come to us.”

Everyone in the room cocked their heads, puzzled by what MJ meant. But not Natasha.

“MJ no, that’s too risky.”

“Fuck risk,” growled back MJ, “risk went out the window when a young girl lost her life.”

“But if it doesn’t work then _you_ might lose your life.”

“Nat we have to stop him. You said it yourself, all we can do is try.”

“MJ I can’t let-”

“Don’t bullshit me Romanoff,” she retorted angrily. She was tired of people telling her what she could and couldn’t do. “If I was you, you wouldn’t even think twice about doing it. You go out there and risk your life to protect ours, how is this any different.”

All Nat could do was stare back at her heartlessly. Her beautiful blue eyes were defeated. Logically there was only one answer she could give, but emotionally she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She dropped her head into her hands, massaging her temples.

MJ hated this. _Him_. The way she acted because of him. Angry, ruthless, fighting with Natasha. She felt like an awful person, all the rage spewing out from within her. It was horrible.

“Ok,” Nat whispered, “but I oversee everything, and everyone’s there.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Are we seriously considering this?!” piped up her father angrily, “MJ no…I won’t let you use yourself as bait.”

“Dad I…this is the only way…if I don’t do this then who knows how many other little girls end up like her.”

“I know that MJ but…I can’t peanut…I can’t let you-”

“Dad please…I need to do this…fifteen years dad. We could finally end it.” She looked into his eyes, memories playing through both of their minds. All the laughs, the pain, the joy, the sadness.

“I know...I know but…oh god I can’t lose you MJ.”

“You won’t, I promise Dad I’ll be ok. Please…we need to do this…I need this…”

“Ok, but I’m there too.”

She nodded thankfully, knowing how hard it was for him to put her in harms way.

“Can we be sure he’ll even take the bait though?” asked Cassie, MJ noticing how silent Wanda had been through all of this.

“We don’t,” replied Nat, “but we know he’s been tracking MJ. And from what I’ve seen it seems like he’s had eyes on us as we followed him, so odds are he’s still keeping tabs on your apartment.”

MJ nodded in agreement. “Tonight, we end this.”

>>>>

Strolling towards Peter’s room before heading out, an unnerving thought lingered on her brain. A thought that would haunt her for eternity if tonight went wrong.

She whipped out her phone. She had barely glanced at it over the past two days, and found it blowing up with texts from Peter. Her heart thrummed at the thought of him, at what she was hiding from him. There was so much she had to tell him, but right now, there was only one thing she truly needed him to know.

 **I love you**.

She watched the words fly off into the unknown, hurtling towards Peter. _If I die, at least he’ll know the one truth I always held about him_.

Continuing down the hall, a faint crimson glow along the floor led her to an all too familiar door. Sneaking into Wanda’s room, the Sokovian sat at the foot of her bed, her entrancing eyes puffy.

“Wanda…” she consoled sadly, sitting down next to the redhead. “I know it’s scary, but I don’t-”

Wanda kissed her.

Deep, passionate, and _oh god._ The feelings in her gut came bursting out, the dam finally yielding. Her body was flooded with them, saturating every cell, exuding warmth throughout her mind.

Then she kissed back, cupping the Sokovian’s face in her hands. This was everything, absolutely everything. It was drowning and overwhelming and MJ couldn’t get enough of it. God it was glorious. Yet she forced herself to pull away.

Her gaze scoured Wanda’s eyes, their breathes heavy, that unspoken thing finally addressed. “I don’t trust anyone more than you,” she finished with a whisper. Then their lips were back together, and tears trickled out her eyes, spilling down her cheek only to be taken by Wanda’s. And then she forced herself to back off once more because:

_Peter_

She had just spoken those three little words to Peter and here she was kissing the lie she had been holding.

She pushed herself away from her forbidden fruit. “I…I trust you,” she repeated, tearing herself away from the bed. Tears were shoved aside as she spun back towards the door and shut it firmly behind her. _Oh god…oh god…oh god…what am I gonna do, what am I-_

_-NO_ , interrupted the compartmentalizing side of her brain, _get the job done, then we can deal with all this tomorrow._ She nodded in agreement, heading back down the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

“NO DAD! I’m tired of living in fear of him. I’m not…I can’t let him keep doing this to me. I’m sleeping here tonight whether you like it or not!” She throttled her fists on the tabletop, the thin wood shaking warily.

“Listen here,” shouted back her father, his Trinidadian accent making its way out, “you may think you’re grown. You might think you know what’s best for you. But I’m still your father, and what I say goes!”

“ARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!” she bellowed back, walls shuddering as she slammed her bedroom door behind her. Loud stomps echoed across the floor as she marched to her bed, diving headlong into its comfort. Outside the window the sun had ceded the sky to the moon, the world bathing in its glorious crescent glow.

“Nice job you two,” came Nat’s voice via the nano-earpiece they wore, “if he’s watching, he couldn’t’ve missed that. Now, we wait.”

The de-facto leader was waiting in a van two blocks away, thermo-imaging on the Stark satellite aimed squarely at MJ’s apartment. Cassie, who despite what Natasha had initially said when Winter break started, actually got to use her suit, the brunette lying in wait on the windowsill, miniature sized of course.

"Seriously guys, why'd I'd have to be by the window? It's so freaking cold here!"

"Whatever Ms. always-perfect-San-Francisco-weather," retorted Nat, "this is mild. There's barely even snow on the ground."

"Mild my ass," grumbled Cassie.

Meanwhile, Wanda was hovering patiently above the stew of clouds, awaiting Nat’s signal, watching over MJ like a guardian angel. It would likely be a while before _he_ struck, if _he_ struck at all. Regardless of this, none of them had complained about the potential wait. They all knew how important this was to her.

She began to realize what Natasha had meant when she spoke about the support and love of others. The sacrifices they make for you, being there for you especially when you’re at your lowest point.

Her anxious voice broke the silence on the intercom, “Whatever happens tonight, I just want to say thank you guys. Everything you’ve done…everything you’re doing. Your friendship has given me a sanctuary even when he tried to take that away from me. I…I could never express how much I love each and every one of you.”

“Thanks babe, love you too,” came a familiar yet wholly unexpected voice.

MJ paused for a moment, “Danvers…?”

“You bet. Didn’t think I would let you do something this brazen without me around, did ya.”

“How did you-”

“I told her. About the plan for tonight,” cut in Natasha, “figured we could use all the firepower we could muster.”

“He’s just one regular guy,” she quipped back.

“He’s about to be one sorry guy,” added Carol. “Oh, and Val’s sorry she couldn’t tag along. Had some business she had to attend to in New Asgard.”

“Oh…that’s alright. Tell her I miss her.”

“I think she knows,” replied Carol, a little more suggestively than MJ would’ve liked. She awkwardly cleared her throat, wondering if the blonde was aware her father was on the line. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice her bravado, though it was rather hard to miss.

“So uhm, what do I do know, just uhm…fake sleep?”

“Yeah. Or you could actually sleep and I’ll wake you up,” answered Cassie.

She did her best to mimic her unconscious self, curling into a ball while she rested on her side. Alone in the silence, her mind drifted to the room around her. The bed no longer felt like her own. The walls were barren, stripped clean after they had been mercilessly desecrated. The fuzzy comfort of her stuffed toys was gone, and the floor still stung of bleach. She knew that this room was her own, but it wasn’t. It was some horrible reflection…a distorted image. She closed her eyes, certain that she wouldn’t fall asleep.

Hours ticked on, a patient quiet the only sound on the comms. MJ lay there, on her bed, running over what she would do when they caught him. She’d wrap her hands around his neck, curl her digits around his nape and jam her thumbs up into his windpipe. As hard as she could, throwing all of herself behind it. And she wouldn’t stop until…until he could never hurt another young girl, ever again.

>>>>

Two-and-a-half hours after their faux fight and there’d been no sign of him. No one had entered his apartment and there were no signs of any odd behavior around the building. Wanda had repeatedly asked permission to come down and fly over the area to ascertain a better look, but Nat had consistently denied her, saying that if he caught wind of them, he’d be gone.

As they neared the three-hour mark, her hope began to crumble. _He’s probably in the wind_ , she told herself, _packed his shit and went off to who the fuck knows where to kidnap another girl_.

She had failed. She failed herself, and more importantly she failed every little girl that he had hurt, and every little girl he was going to hurt. She failed them. He had beaten her, physically, mentally, emotionally. He had won. After fifteen years, he had finally won.

Then Natasha’s voice came on. “We got movement. Coming up the fire escape.”

In a complete 180, MJ’s heart began to pound furiously. Sweat rapidly drenched her body as adrenaline rushed her system, readying her for fight-or-flight. The rhythmic thump of her heart boomed through her chest, jarring her ribs. She felt her muscles tensing, the vengeance supercharging her engine. There was no doubt what this was going to be, flight was not an option.

“Everybody hold for a positive ID,” commanded Nat, the call going out to everyone though MJ felt it was definitely directed towards a certain Sokovian.

“I got movement outside the window, can’t confirm identity,” broke Cassie’s voice.

MJ desperately wanted to turn, to see him, look into his eyes and let him know that she had caught him. But she couldn’t. It’d be too risky. So she lay there, waiting for him to come to her, waiting for the jiggle of the window, or the crash of the glass. She waited…and waited…but there was nothing.

“What’s going on? asked MJ.

“He’s just… just sitting out there, not even trying to get in,” described Cassie.

“Get a closer look,” ordered Carol.

There was a moments pause, followed by Cassie’s desolate words. “Guys I don’t think its him,” she said, “this guy’s in his late twenties, no older than thirty-five.”

“What!” grumbled MJ, flinging herself out of bed. The window tore open and she stepped out onto the fire escape. Cassie, recently embiggened, was right. “Who the fuck are you?” she shouted to the stranger.

The man, understandably distraught by having a human simply appear from thin air, fell onto his back. “OH god please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered panicky, “please god don’t hurt me!”

“Just calm down ok. Why were you outside my window?”

“I-I-I don’t know, some guy paid me half a grand to do it…said there was a piece of string he attached to pull down the ladder, a-a-and to just crawl up and wait outside.”

“And you did it?!?” guffawed Cassie.

“Look I’m homeless, I’m not gonna turn down that kind of money.”

“GRAHH. How’d he know you wouldn’t back out?” roared MJ.

“He uhm… he said he’d be watching if I tried anything funny.”

“ _Watching?_ ”

“Shit!” came Nat’s startled voice, “the building next door. He just came out. He’s heading for the sewers.”

She listened over the comms as Nat swung the sliding van door open and gave chase, her panting breath heaving over the radio. Crashing through the soup of white came a dim light and glowing red streak, barreling towards the bristling New York skyline.

Her brain quickly kicked into hyperdrive, taking stock of the entire situation at once. “Dad stay with this guy, don’t let him leave your sight,” she ordered. Her father was a tall man with a metal baseball bat, so she wasn’t too worried about the homeless guy being a problem.

Hands and feet flew across metal as she and Cassie raced to the bottom of the fire escape, the brisk cold barely registering in her mind. Skipping the ladder altogether, she landed with a heavy thud, her gaze focusing just in time to see Natasha’s red hair flash down a manhole cover.

A few seconds after, Carol’s exuberant glow briefly emblazoned the street before flashing down the opening, an incandescent pyre shooting out into the air. Wanda’s ethereal trail quickly followed, MJ dropping in soon after with Cassie bringing up the rear.

“Jump!” called Wanda’s voice from below.

In a testament to how much she had come to trust the Sokovian, MJ didn’t even hesitate as she flung herself away from the ladder, freefalling down to the sewer floor below. A foot before she would’ve broken her legs, the dynamic energy surrounded her, dropping her gently on the concrete.

In silent synchrony they all followed the sound of the master assassin’s footsteps echoing across the maze-like walls. The sour, deathly pungent smell seared MJ’s nose. She wasn’t an athlete by any means, but she was zooming through the tunnels, long strides covering ground in a hurry. Carol’s growing light was the only thing that allowed her to see through the misty darkness, Captain Marvel preparing to takeoff ahead of the pack when a voice cut through the damp quiet.

“Wanda! Wall thirty feet in front of my voice!” hollered Natasha.

In the blink of an eye Wanda had stopped and luminescent hands were outstretched. A thudding, pained grunt echoed from where Natasha’s voice had been, quickly followed by what MJ now recognized as the snap of the Black Widow’s fist getting roughly acquainted with someone’s face.

When they caught up to Natasha, MJ finally saw him. The man who was singularly responsible for her darkest horrors. Who had birthed her most resilient fears. The man that tried to desecrate her, tried to destroy her life. That had destroyed the lives of other little girls. She was about to do to him what he failed to do to her.

Wanda quickly restrained him, chaining his ankles and wrists to the grimy wall. Her eyes were an intense inferno of red that MJ had never seen. This was the hellfire inside her that MJ knew she possessed but didn’t think she’d ever see.

As soon as his back pressed up against the wall, Wanda began to pull mercilessly.

He groaned in agony, a horrible purr that MJ and the rest payed no mind to as Wanda wrenched. She wondered how many girls he had made howl like this. How he probably took pleasure in it, got off on hearing their pained cries for help. He roared out as Wanda drew his shoulders and hips from their sockets. One by one, four substantial pops filled the air, each one accompanied by more screaming.

MJ only stepped in before Wanda finished because he was hers. It took a couple seconds before the redhead noticed her standing between them, the blaze in her eyes quelling the moment they met hers. She lay her hands over Wanda’s extended arms, the Witch resting her powers, still keeping him elevated.

She strode tall to him, stout body splayed across the wall, his throbbing neck meeting her eyeline. Her hands wrapped tight around it, feeling the veins, the muscles, the tendons. Thumbs nestled up against the center of his throat, gliding over the ribs in his airway. She remembered what the doctor had told her father fifteen years ago, five pounds per square inch is all it would’ve taken _him_ to collapse her windpipe…that’s all it would take right now.

“Fifteen years. For fifteen years you terrorized me, you haunted me, abused me. You raped my body, my mind, my soul. And now you tried to finally break me. But I fought back, just like I did when I escaped. I fought, and kept on fighting, kept on trying, and I made a choice. A promise. That you would no longer hurt another person so long as I still breathed. You are a sick, twisted motherfucker, and today you-”  
  


“I always wished you could’ve chocked me back then,” _he_ cut in with a crude smile, “I’m glad I finally got to experience it my Sweet. How I’ve missed your touch.”

Something snapped in her. _He_ didn’t deserve another second of pleasure in his life. She shot her hand back to Nat’s utility belt, drawing out her knife. She jabbed it into his crotch, feeling the blade bury itself in his flesh. She pulled out, his tissue and skin tugging on the blade as she wrest it free. Then she did it again, over and over and over, her mind ceding control to her arm. Her vision turned blood red, each thrust flashing back a horrible memory. How his fingers felt on her stomach, how his lips felt on hers, how his breath had felt on her neck, how he felt inside of her.

Anger boiled over in her stomach. She could hear him screaming, but the sound felt far away, drowned out by the roar of the blood in her ears. The knife kept plunging in and out and until it finally felt like there was nothing left to stab. She looked at the blade, dripping crimson.

Then she looked at him, his pained, ghostly face.

Why was she feeling ambivalent? Remorse even? This was a bad man, he deserved this. _He_ deserved this. But she couldn’t get those feelings out of the back of her mind, a quiet whisper amongst the rage and fury. She tried to speak it out of existence.

“I am your greatest failure, and I’ll make sure that continues. The family of the girl will get their closure, they’ll know that the vile human who kidnapped their daughter is gone. And I’ll make sure you don’t get the satisfaction of having a legacy. Because you are nothing, a worthless speck of dust on the timeline of this planet. That’s what you will always be, nothing, no one.”

She increased the pressure of her thumbs. It was now or never. The choice seemed obvious, yet she couldn’t make it. Her gaze was steely on his face. She had thought about it so much, but she couldn’t she bring herself to do it. _He deserves this,_ she convinced herself, _he deserves this!_ But her hands wouldn’t move, frozen in a moment’s hesitation.

“You’ll always remember me my Sweet,” he eked out, that wicked smile returning, “so will the other eleven bitches.”

That was all she needed. She pressed down as hard as she could, her entire weight falling onto him.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

6…

7…

His body went limp. She didn’t stop.

8…

9…

10…

11.

The rigid airway collapsed under her hands, a soft crunching sound silencing the sewer. She dropped him, his body falling in a heap.

Lifeless.

She stood there, looking down on his corpse. Unmoving. Forever gone from this earth.

A flood of emotions rushed her, more than she was ready to deal with. She turned away, collapsing into Wanda’s protective embrace as she began to sob uncontrollably. Snot ran from her nostrils and drool spewed out her mouth while tears overflowed her cheeks.

It was over…it was finally over. After a decade and a half, she finally had found closure.

That thought ushered forth so many others which had stewed in the pits of her brain for years. Too many for her to handle all at once, the world soon slipping out from around her.

>>>

When she awoke there was comfort across her back, not Wanda no, artificial comfort. Her mind tremored with the aftershocks of a headache as her skull rest upon a soft pillow. The gentle glow of a few lights illuminated the edges of her soupy gaze, quiet chatter filling the background. She could only make out a few phrases as she fumbled awake.

“hope she’s ok”

“Go slow”

“done the same”

She scanned the room, vision taking it’s time to focus. She could make out Natasha, Carol, Cassie, Wanda, and- _oh god what is he doing here._ Peter. She tried to sit herself up, but a nurturing hand cautioned her.

“Easy there peanut, you really spent yourself.”

All eyes turned towards her as she slowly lifted up against the backrest.

“How you feeling?” asked Nat, cautiously approaching the foot of the bed.

“Good…uhm, a little tired I guess.” She glanced at all their faces, each wearing a cautious demeanor, as if speaking to someone who had just woken from a decade long coma. “What…what happened?”

“Well, after you…..” Wanda trailed off, caring eyes searching MJ’s, unsure of what to say.

“You can say it. I…” she peered cautiously at Peter, wondering how much he knew, “I know what I did.”

“After you…killed him, you were pretty worn out. Physically and emotionally. So, you just passed out.”

Kill. Such a funny word. One of the most monumental things a human can do, and it’s summed up in four letters. The word still didn’t seem to register in her ears. What she had done hadn’t registered in her brain. She knew she did it, she knew how she was supposed to feel, but all she had was numbness. No guilt, no remorse, but at the same time no satisfaction, no resolution. Nothing.

MJ nodded, regarding what Wanda said. Her memory of the moment was clear up until she had erupted into sobs, which is why she knew that Wanda had left out the part about her collapsing directly into her arms.

She tore her gaze away from the Sokovian, looking to the other redhead, avoiding the boy.

“Where’s his-”

“Gone. I burned it up,” explained Carol. “Same with the storage unit. Torched it all. No one will know. No one will remember him.”

_I will_ , thought MJ, _I always will_.

>>>>

She awoke late the next morning. She and her dad were staying in the compound while their apartment was being graciously renovated by an Asgardian construction crew. Shaded sunlight fell through the large pane windows, the soft, waxy hue warming the frosty sheets. Familiar sounds of her father in the kitchen fell quietly onto her ears as a warmth blanketed her side.

A warmth she hadn’t felt in months, but she recognized immediately. His sleeping face was relaxed, a heavy arm wrapped around her protectively. His breath was exactly as she had remembered it, shallow with hints of rumble beneath. She stole a moment to savor this. The peace and tranquility. The love.

As the inevitable thoughts of her secrets crept up, she turned her gaze to the room around her. The pristine, pearly comforter that warmed her body. The snow-white pillows that cushioned her head. She remembered the stains of the bed in the storage unit. Their dry, crusty look. The pungent smell that she recalled all too easily.

Guilt clogged her throat. Why did she get to lavish in this luxury while that poor girl had suffered so badly? She still didn’t even know her name. Or the names of the ten others. Who were they, how had they suffered?

She buried her face in her hands. Her textile pads rubbing against smooth skin. She remembered the feel of him under her tendril-like fingers. His pulse under her touch, the soft give of his airway as the life slipped out of him. His body slumping onto the sewer floor.

Why did she still not feel anything? She had thought about this for fifteen years. More than half her life, and yet there was nothing. _Is that what killing does to you,_ she thought, _numb your senses, your emotions, until your nothing but a blank slate._ She was the one that had killed, yet just like all those years ago, she felt dead inside. Questions filled her mind, with no answers to meet them. So she slipped out of bed, to the person that she knew always had an answer.

>>>

She lightly rasped her knuckles on the door, thoughts swirling in her mind like a dust devil. In a heartbeat the door swung open, and MJ was greeted by Nat’s gorgeous face, a soothing smile temporarily quelling the bluster in her brain. Her lightning blue eyes were lazy, glowing orbs. She turned, inviting a path for MJ, shutting the door behind them.

Nat sat back into the bed, criss-crossing her legs under the warmth of the sheets. MJ happily crawled in beside to her, tucking her legs next to Natasha’s while nestling her head onto the Widow’s sturdy shoulder. A trained hand lovingly land on her favorite spot, digits stroking through her hair as they always did, pinky finger bristling her ear as it tumbled by. For a few minutes nothing was said, the two simply enjoying one another’s presence, the peacefulness, the sanctity.

She eased herself into the rise and fall of Nat’s shoulder, the warmth of the breath against her forehead. Tender, intermittent kisses landed on her crown and cheek, filling MJ with affectionate warmth. She wished she could stay like this forever and ever. No worries, no stress. Laying easily on the woman whom she had only recently met, yet she already trusted with her life. The woman who, whenever she didn’t know what to do or tell herself, she would come to see. If only she could hit pause on the universal remote, just for a moment, to savor this.

But a thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked. Nat’s chin shifted softly as she regarded her question, a few beats passing before her response.

“I don’t know MJ. Nowadays, rarely is ‘the right thing’ so cut and dry. Sometimes people do the right thing for the wrong reasons. Sometimes people do the wrong thing for the right reasons. You’ll drive yourself crazy if every second of everyday you tried to make the ethically perfect decision. My question to you is, did you do what you felt was right in the moment?”

“Yes,” MJ responded without hesitation, knowing she meant it.

“Good. That’s all you can do; all you should do. There’s gonna be times when right and wrong feel muddled, times when you look back on certain decisions, and you may realize that in hindsight that wasn’t actually the right thing to do. _But_ , if all you ever do is what you feel is right in the moment, then you can’t say you made the wrong choice.”

She pondered this as she fell further into the Widow’s shoulder. She always felt comfortable with Natasha, like she could ask anything. The openness, the vulnerability, it wasn’t a state she found herself with most people. “Then why don’t I feel anything. I should be relieved that he’s gone right...? Why don’t I feel that?”

Nat’s arm wrapped around her slender body, pulling it in tight. Her hand moved up to MJ’s locks, beginning to braid her hair. “Because MJ, at the end of the day, that’s still a person’s life. I…I’ve killed a lot of people in my time, some like Trevor who probably deserved it, and some who definitely didn’t. And I was trained to do it without feeling anything, which I did…for a long time I did. But as I grew, as I became a better person, they all came back to me. Every single one of them, I carry them with me, to this day. And I will tomorrow, and the day after that and on and on until I die. And so will you. You’re not gonna wake up one day and just feel all sunshine and rainbows about what you did. You never will, cause it’s still a human being.”

“Gee thanks,” muttered MJ under her breath.

“ _But_ … you also have to think about the lives you saved. How many more girls would’ve gotten hurt, killed, if you hadn’t done what you did. How many girls did you avenge by doing what you did? That question you’re asking yourself right now, ‘did he deserve it’ I ask myself that every day. It’s never gonna be a simple, absolute yes or no. But if you feel the reasons for ‘yes’ outweigh the reasons for ‘no,’ then you have to believe that what you did made the world a better place.”

The words pooled in MJ’s mind, simmering there as she lay upon the redhead. It was a strange feeling. A day ago, she would’ve said with utmost conviction that he deserved to die. But now that she had actually done it…

“Yeah…”

“What?”

“I guess it’s just…what if he was mentally ill. Or what if it was something else. And I just kill-”

“MJ. He killed eleven girls.”

“I know that. I know he was terrible it just…it all feels different after what I did. Now that it’s over.”

“I know...and it's gonna feel like that for the rest of your life. But you can’t focus on what if’s MJ, only on what is. Can’t change the past kiddo, but you can change the future.”

She gazed up to Nat, finding those sage eyes staring back. A lingering kiss landed on her forehead, hands continuing to gently play with her hair.

She entranced herself in Nat’s embrace, breathing in her guidance. She really didn’t want to leave the bed. She had come in with an impossible existential question, yet somehow Nat found a way to make it all seem…understandable.

“So, did you do the right thing?” asked Nat after a long pause.

“I…I don’t know…I think so.” replied MJ.

“Good.” Another kiss landed atop her forehead, and she eased deeper into Nat. Her thoughts began to drift back to that moment. When her weight collapsed onto him. When he had taken his final breath.

“Did you think about stopping me?” she asked.

There was a pause, and the master spy seemed to also rewind back to that moment. Her gaze steered from MJ’s, staring off to the world beyond the window. “Yeah, definitely. I thought about if I should let you do it or not, what it would mean to you…for a while it seemed like you were gonna stop yourself.”

“Yeah…I uhm…it was weird. I-I knew what I wanted to do but…my body wouldn’t do it. It was only when he said there were eleven more…I just thought about that girl in the storage unit, to think that there were ten others like her. I was so angry and I just couldn’t stand the thought of him taking another undeserved breath-”

“Shhhhhhhh…I know. It’s the same reason I didn’t stop you. There’s not a lot of things I’ve seen that have scared me MJ…but what he did was one of them. But that hesitation, that’s a good sign. Despite all the horror and evil he brought into the world, you still paused on whether or not that was the right thing. Even now you are. That’s your conscious, your compass, and it’s what separates us from them.”

MJ reclined further onto her redheaded monarch, stewing in their conversation. Inevitably her mind began to wander to the other thing on her mind. The situation where she definitely felt she wasn’t doing the right thing in the moment. _Peter_.

As comfortable as she would be staying here, she couldn’t keep running from him. “Thank you Nat,” she hushed, laying a kiss on the redhead’s shoulder before stepping away from the bed.

Reentering Peter’s room, the young man was stretching himself awake. “Morning,” he greeted, voice scratchy yet cheery as ever. 

“Morning,” MJ replied earnestly. Despite everything (and it was a lot of things) MJ was truly glad to have him back. His gentleness, patience, the way he just made her feel like she was something incredible. She had forgotten about all of that over these past few days and even weeks that they had been separated, but now that he was back, it embraced her like a cloud. She crawled into bed beside him, exhaling happily as his arm naturally pulled her in closer, hand tucking itself against her back, gently stroking over her spine. “I thought you weren’t supposed to get back until the weekend?” she asked.

“Yeah, but then you sent that text. And I…I just got a bad feeling about it. So I left Shuri a note saying I had to go, and then I maybe sort of stole T’challa’s jet.”

She stared in amazement. “All that because of one text?”

“Like I said, I had a bad feeling. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah…uhm…about that. Pete I know your probably upset about what I-”

She was once again silenced by a kiss. Deep, passionate, and oh so similar. And again she kissed back, letting herself fall into him, allowing him to feel all the vulnerability and fear she had held onto for these past two days and the fifteen years before them. And like the amazing boyfriend he was he took it all, letting her vent everything she had held back.

“Not now,” he spoke, pulling away, “you’ve been through a lot. Just rest for now ok…don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

The words echoed those she often told him on some of his hardest days. When he would come in battered and bruised, his mind worn down. And she would just be there for him. Now he was doing the same for her.

Despite her minds protests, her body listened, shutting her eyes and letting him spoon her, hold her, protect her. And though she had sworn she wouldn’t allow Peter to worry about protecting her, it felt so unbelievably good right now. So she let his embrace take her.

>>>>

A couple hours later there was a gentle knock on the door, followed by her dad’s voice. “Hey, lunch’s ready. You better get out here before Cassie eats it all.”

She turned to Peter, the person who had been on her mind for the past two hours. She knew he told her to rest, but she couldn’t. At least not mentally. She had pondered over and over what she would say to him. There was so much to reveal, and she knew she could no longer keep hiding it, but what might that do to him? To them?

She knew it was selfish to think like that, but she couldn’t help it.

The only thing that had brought her reprieve from her thoughts was him. His shallow breath soothing her nape, his unconscious rubs across her hips, the shelter of his grasp.

“Peter…Pete…” she soothed. Nothing. _You’d think after two years I’d know that wasn’t gonna work._ Taking his shoulder, she shook him lightly, working up to borderline damaging if he wasn’t a superhero.

“Hmmmpffff….chimi….chimichanga…” he mumbled dreamily.

“PETE!” she snapped, shaking him harder still.

“Hmpf…huh…I’m…I’m awake I’m ready…”

“Ready to take down a chimichanga,” she chortled, “come on Pete, lunch is ready and Cassie’s gonna finish it if we’re not there soon.”

That got him up.

“Ah…guess we better go,” he perked up, flinging the sheets off them both. He hopped out of bed her body immediately missing his touch. Just before he bounded out the doorway, she snatched his hand, pulling him back towards her. “Wait,” she hushed before pulling him into another kiss, one that was definitely more passionate than morning kisses ought to be. She couldn’t help it though, the hours alone in bed with him had reminded her how much she missed him.

It took a couple beats for him to return the kiss, no doubt surprised by how forward she had been. “Wow…” he sputtered, as she pulled away, “uhm…missed you too.”

Flashing a smile, she pulled him towards the kitchen.

“Save some of that for us Lang,” he called when they arrived, practically swinging into his seat. By the time she sat down his plate was overflowing with food, pieces of rice literally tumbling off the edges. She gave him a look that had been well developed over two years of a relationship.

“What?! You know I love your dad’s cooking.”

She merely shook her head; the same way Val always did with Carol. Although admittedly not long after her plate was similarly stuffed with food.

Once again, as they sat around the table with her dad’s food nourishing them all, everything felt ok. Trevor was gone, finally gone. And though in truth there was still so much she had to address, in this singular moment, everything was good.


	8. Chapter 8

The next afternoon MJ strode into her apartment building. Keys jangled in her pocket, long legs striding into the cramped elevator. She welcomed the familiar rumble of the metal box as it crawled up the hollow tunnel, its gentle hum filling her ears.

Her father would be home soon after. It had taken much assurance from herself to convince him to go to work, and he had only agreed when MJ promised numerous times that she would text him when she got back safely. As much as she could tell he still worried, she didn’t want him to shut off the rest of the world just to help her. It’s like he had said, he had a life outside of her, and she knew he deserved to enjoy it.

The chipped silver doors creaked opened, revealing the familiar white cement hallway. A few paces to the right and she arrived at the doorstep.

His doorstep.

The mahogany door consumed her vision, identical to hers, exactly identical to every other door in the building save for the golden number hanging above the peephole. If he hadn’t sent that note she would have never known. He would have continued to live on normally, a seemingly average man with an average job. And despite all the horrible atrocities he’d committed, no one else had or would ever know the truth about him. Not his neighbors, not the people he worked with, not anyone.

She had promised both him and herself that all eleven families of the girls would get the closure they so deserved. But so far Edith had only found three positive ID’s. Two from the DNA samples Nat collected before Carol burned the unit, and the other from facial recognition of the little girl. And it didn’t look likely that they would find any more. So, the sobering reality was that in all likelihood only three families would get that due closure. Not that it would change the fact that their daughters had died.

And that wasn’t even the thought that pained MJ the most. No, the one that stung the worst was that, at the end of the day, when all was said and done, there would be more people to mourn his loss than be thankful for it. Despite what she knew and what Nat had told her, in the eyes of the rest of the world, she had only brought in more sadness and despair.

She turned away; her heart blackened by the unenviable truth. She waddled uneasily down the stairs, to her apartment one floor below. Nuzzling open the door, she made her way past the kitchen and into the confines of room.

She had forgotten to take note of the apartment, but her room was absolutely gorgeous. Smooth, polished hardwood lined her floor. A rocky, tamed grey blanketed her walls while eggshell white coated her ceiling, looking like an indoor cliffside. The bed was lush, a wonderful twin size with a white comforter and royal purple tinted sheets. Sleek wooden bedposts kept it hinged to the ground, with an ornate Asgardian design serving as the backrest. A sliding double mirror closet was tucked into the back-right corner of the room, and the window had been redone as well, a new wooden design glinting in the sunlight, seeming to change hues as her eyes moved around it. It was spectacular. Better than spectacular. Immaculate.

It was…it was…

She collapsed onto the floor, her body heaving lightly as her eyes moistened. She leaned herself against the nearest wall and began to bawl. Hands rushed to cover her face, concealing her shame from the empty room. She heard herself hiccup, feeling the hitch of the air in her lungs, the wind rushing past her upper lip as she sniffled. She cried and cried and cried, the back of her eyes stinging as her ducts emptied themselves. Her shoulders grew heavier and heavier with each irrepressible weep, sobs that were neither joyful nor miserable. Neither sorrow nor glee. Neither remorse nor indifference. Just an outpouring of emotions. The inevitable, inundating rush of vulnerability after having had to remain so strong for so long. She let it consume her, she had no other choice, her mind and body were simply exhausted, incapable of keeping it together any longer.

So she sat there; helpless of doing anything else other than shed herself. She couldn’t move, even when her butt became sore and her shoulders weak and her throat dry, she continued to sob. To cathart.

Then there was a touch, familiar in its ethereal nature, brushing her hair. The sound of her locks on her window becoming undone was followed by a voice. “Hey…it’s ok,” came the tempered, soft tone from above her. “It’s gonna be ok,” promised the voice. MJ felt a warm, secure, easing embrace entomb her. She liquified into it.

Into Wanda.

Her shudders were absorbed by the Sokovian’s sturdy frame. Her tears wiped away by her powerful, serene fingers. Her absolute, ultimate vulnerability readily accepted by Wanda in earnest. She cried, on and on until she wiped herself out.

Even when it felt like it had been hours, Wanda stayed, never leaving her side. Her rock. The person she felt she wanted whenever she was sad, or distressed.

Through her hitched cries and stunted sobs, MJ heard the faint rush of the front door opening, followed in suite by heavy footfalls leading to her door being swung open. In the moment she didn’t care who it was or what it meant, right now her world was limited to her and Wanda. Brief seconds passed before the door gently shut and they were left alone once more.

All the while Wanda simply ran her hands through MJ’s cascading locks, combing out kinks, pulling away every so often to rub her thumb beneath her eyes, brushing away tears. She kissed her cheeks softly, the words, “I’ll never leave you,” said over and over until they were ingrained into MJ’s brain.

Once she had nothing left, her body utterly spent, her soul completely barren, she fell asleep tucked against Wanda, her reassuring whispers tugging her gently into unconsciousness. Into a peaceful sleep.

>>>

When she awoke her Sokovian companion was no longer present, though her easing touch still remained. She had been kindly tucked into bed, and decided to lay there until the familiar sizzle of a pan called out from the kitchen. She stepped out into the apartment, her father doing what he did best behind the newly renovated kitchen.

“Hey peanut,” came his voice, as uplifting and easygoing as ever.

“Hey dad,” she replied softly, knowing she had an explanation to deliver. “Uhm…whatchya cooking?” she stalled.

“Peas masala, your favorite,” he answered, seemingly content to let her run the course of this tiptoeing.

“Oh,” she replied, not knowing where to go. “What umm…how do you like…” she exhaled a heavy sigh, too tired to keep up the charade, “I’m sorry dad. I should’ve told you about Wanda earlier. I just, I didn’t know-”

“MJ, peanut, it’s ok…I knew. You don’t have to apologize, I knew you’d tell me when you felt comfortable.”

“You…you knew?”

“I think Ray Charles could’ve seen it,” he joked. And she smiled, for she had missed his jokes. “Of course I knew. The moment I first saw you two together I knew. The way you look at her. The way you smile at her. The way she protects you. I mean, when she beat me to the punch of consoling my own daughter, it was pretty obvious.”  
  


“Hah, yeah…I guess, I guess so,” she muttered, hindsight showing her how little she had actually done to hide the fact. “Why didn’t you-”

“Interrogate you about it,” he offered with a sarcastic smile, “neither of us woulda wanted that. As your dad it’s my job to guide and mentor you along life, not to be a martial of it. So yeah I definitely want to know what my daughter is up to, but not if it’s gonna make her uncomfortable. Not to say if you didn’t tell me for a while I wouldn’t’ve asked, but I trust that we have a good enough relationship that you would’ve decided to tell me on your own accord.”

MJ’s dry eyes quickly began to wobble again. “ _Dad_ ,” she hitched, sprinting into her father’s embrace, “we do…of course we do. I love you so much.”

“I love you too peanut,” came his assuring hush as lips landed atop her forehead, nurturing her. Strong hands eased her back, stroking away her nervousness.

“Did you know that…that I was-”

“Bi? Mhmm. I mean obviously I couldn’t be sure, but yeah…I knew.”

“Since…since when?”

“Freshman year I think it was, kinda late if I’m being honest.”

“Still earlier than me” she chuckled, remembering her extended foray into bi-curiosity, “…how did you…I was just figuring it out then?

“A parent knows MJ…a parent knows.”

She lunged back into him; his cooking apron temporarily transformed into her tissue. His chin shifted as she continued to cry long after she should’ve. “What else’s wrong peanut?”

“Peter,” she yelped, as if that’d explain everything.

“Ahhh…” realized her dad, “I’m guessing he doesn’t know about her?”

MJ shook her head violently in his embrace, the thought of Peter causing an unexpectedly high-pitched sob.

“Hmphf…you know you’re gonna-”

“I know,” she huffed, “he’s coming this evening.”

“Alright…it’s alright peanut,” he hushed, continuing to let her in, “do you know what you’re gonna say?”

“NO,” she squeaked, bursting into another round of tears, “I’m scared Dad, what if he…what if…”

“Shhhhh…shhhhhh…it’ll be alright…just calm down…match my breath ok?”

She did, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, harmonizing with it. Her eyes began to dry, her limbs steadying. The scratchiness of her throat became much more apparent. He gently stepped back, deliberate but caring fingers brushing her cheeks, lifting her eyes to meet his. “MJ, I can’t tell you exactly what to say. You’re in a complicated situation, and I think you know that. But the best thing you can do is be honest with him, own what you’ve done. The kid’s got more understanding than most people give him credit for, and he loves you like crazy, and you do him, I’ve seen it for two years now so…well just make sure he knows that. You can’t control how he’s gonna react, but you can control what you say to him. Alright?”

MJ nodded through still blurry eyes, pulling her father back in, the seconds apart already too long. “Oh MJ, I know peanut…I know, just let it out…” she did, for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes.

Once her eyes finally dried, her mind numb, she pulled away, turning towards her room. “When you’re ready, dinner’ll be waiting,” comforted her dad. She trudged slowly towards her door, dreading what was soon to come. “And MJ…” she slowly whipped around, her father’s tone inquisitive, “is there anything else you wanna talk about?”

He was offering a lead for MJ to open up, the tone of his voice suggesting he already knew what it was. But MJ had already surpassed her usual emotional quota for a day, and she still had to talk with Peter. A gentle shake of her head was her only response before softly shutting her door.

>>>

A couple hours later, she heard the front door open, her dad greeting Peter with a fatherly hug as usual. “She’s in her room,” she heard him say.

Almost immediately after their relationship had solidified, she had asked Peter not to use the fire escape as much as possible, and if he did to let her know in advance. Not because her father would be upset, but because…well, you know.

Being the gentleman he was he agreed, and it was only on his hardest days that he would send a text before crawling through, silently decompressing in MJ’s arms. Sometimes he would cry, sometimes he would just stare off into the distance, but they would always talk, and she would always hold him in her arms.

As fleeting memories of those numerous conversations filled her mind, his soft footfalls neared the door, followed by a considerate knock before gently sliding in.

She had been thinking about this moment ever since _he_ had come back into her life. She still wasn’t completely sure, but in her heart of hearts, she knew it was what she had to do.

Her boyfriend entered her room in a thick brown coat, spilling it off of him before sitting next to her on the gorgeous bed. His hand immediately took her palm into his, and she knew he could sense the uncertainty in the air, it’s presence more than palpable. “MJ I…I was so worried when you went quiet for those few days…why didn’t you tell me?” He spoke with so much naïve affection that MJ nearly broke down for the third time today.

“How much do you know?” she asked.

“The basics. Nat told me a little bit but said that I should talk to you when you were ready.”

She nodded understandingly. “Alright. Well, it’s time for you to know everything.” She explained it all to him, her rape, the past fifteen years, how he had come back into her life. She started and didn’t stop until it was all in the open. Almost all.

As she spoke, she watched his body language. Fists clenched around her hand, gripping it protectively and angrily. His breath heaved, the enraged bulge of his jaw flexing rapidly. It was for this exact reason she hadn’t told him before. He was a good kid, great kid, but he could get emotional. Especially about his friends.

Especially about her.

She didn’t want him to do anything reckless, something that he might regret. She knew his code, she didn’t wanna force him to break it.

“Thank you,” he murmured when she finished, “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been, so thank you for telling me MJ.” He pulled her into a hug, an endearing kiss landing on her cheek. She had forgotten how good it felt to be with him. Physically yes, but even more so emotionally. They had endured so much together, and their bond was one forged of love but tested by fire. “You’re so strong…” he whispered into her ear, “…and I’m so proud of you.”

She nuzzled in even tighter as his supportive words landed on accepting ears. Soothing hands began to comb her tresses as their cheeks snuggled against one another. “Can I just ask one thing?” he quizzed, pulling back slightly.

She nodded.

“Why…why didn’t you tell me? Not about before but…when he came back. I…I just feel like I could’ve helped out.” His eyes were filled with so much emotion. Anger, sympathy, sadness. Curiosity. He truly didn’t know why she withheld the truth. 

“I wanted to tell you Pete but…with great power comes great responsibility… you already take on so much, I didn’t wanna be an added burden to you.”

He scoffed in response, clearly not pleased with the answer. “MJ that’s what relationships are about, accepting each other’s burdens. When I entered this, I knew that there might be times where I was tested. But I still wanted to go through because I really want to be with you. Not only that, but because when I am with you, it’s like you make my whole life easier. Because I love you.”

A huffed smile creased her face, both in happiness and in resignation. Of course it was the goody two shoes answer from the goody two shoes boy. “I love you too Pete…but I didn’t wanna put you in that situation. If you had him all alone, knowing what he had done to me, what he was still doing to me,” she questioned, motioning toward his tense body, his jaw wound tightly. “Pete you have a code. One that keeps you pure, and innocent. I didn’t wanna be the reason you broke that code, because if you did, I don’t think either of us would be able to live with that.”

He tucked his head into his palm, massaging his temple. MJ hated seeing him so stressed out about her. He worried about the whole world as if he could save it all, she didn’t want him to have to worry about her too. “I get that MJ, but we should’ve made that decision together. I could’ve sidelined myself, or just helped from the compound.”

“Hah. Do you really think you could sideline yourself…I mean, getting you to rest is the one problem I’ve never figured out Pete.”

“I…” his shoulders slumped. She knew him too well. “I just wish I could’ve done something more-”

“I know…I know. But it’s over now…he can’t hurt me anymore. And you don’t need to worry about protecting me all the time either.”

A kindling smile tugged at his lips. “You know I couldn’t do that even if I tried.”

She smiled. They knew each other too well. “I know…and I know your upset about what I did Pete. About…about killing him, but-”

“It’s ok MJ, we don’t have to talk abou-”

“No Pete, we do. Because I know what it means to you, and I don’t want us just sweeping it under the rug.”

“You’re…you’re right. I guess I just feel like…well I guess I should ask you first. What do you…how are you feeling?”

“I don’t know Pete. God it’s been so hard. Today…and yesterday. I just don’t know if I did the right thing. I mean…I know he deserved punishment, but I just wonder-”

“Was there another way?” Peter finished for her.

She nodded. “It’s just…in the moment. I was so angry. Everything he had done. To me…to all those girls. I just couldn’t…I couldn’t stand the thought of him-”

“I know MJ,” he comforted, wrapping her in a hug, “well…I don’t, but I know it must’ve been hard.”

“So hard,” she cried, tucking her head into his shoulder, “I just keep thinking back to in the moment, it just happened so quick…and now it’s just that…oh god I don’t know…what would you have done Pete?”

“MJ don’t…you know what I would’ve done.”

“I know that…but what you would’ve done in the moment? All the memories of what he did to you for twenty days, the scars he left you with for fifteen years. And he just confessed that those same horrors had happened to eleven other girls. Eleven girls who… who didn’t get the ‘good’ ending. Her dead face, and the memories of what he did to you and…oh it was so much…”

“I…I don’t…” he looked down, his hands balled back up into fists at the mere mention of what he’d done to MJ, breath flaring at the thought of his face. He exhaled defeatedly. He didn’t know what he would’ve done. He had his code yes, but would he really have thought of that in the moment? If he had the man who had raped the woman he loved in his grips. He would…wouldn’t he?

Collapsing back into the bed, his heart was like an elephant in his body. “I don’t know MJ…” he muttered, “I don’t know what to…what’d Nat say?”

“That I can’t change the past, just the future.”

His gaze fell onto the newly coated ceiling. Such a simple fact of life, but one we always take for granted. Nat was right. They could discuss what’d happened all day, but what’s done was done, and neither of them could change that. He was upset, but what could he do about it. Go back in time? Yeah right. Get upset at MJ? No. She was already as hard on herself as anyone would be after doing something like that.

“She’s right. I...you…we can’t change what happened. Even if I want to, even if you wanted to…we can’t. But what we can control is what we do in the future. We decide the actions we wanna make, and it won’t always be easy but...I’ll help you if you promise to help me…ok?”

“Deal,” she exhaled into his embrace, nudging further into his shoulder. “Do…do you hate me?”

“What?!” he retorted, staring at her in shock.

“For what I did…do you hate me?”

“MJ…no. Do-don’t even say that. I might not be happy with what you did, but…god I could never hate you.” He pulled away from her, cupping her cheek in his hand, connecting their gazes. “Look at me MJ…I love you. Sure as the sun will rise tomorrow I love you, and nothing will change that.”

She nodded slowly. She knew exactly how he felt. Her hand slipped into Peter’s own, holding it like the heartbeat it was. She flashed him a smile. One that was sorry and hopeful all at once. He reciprocated it, the meeting of their eyes letting one another know that they understood how fucked up their lives were.

“I love you too…and I just needed you to know about all of that. It just…it opened up some old wounds that I didn’t know I still had…a-and I just wanna say sorry in advance if I start acting up. Like-”

Peter leaned across the distance and silenced her with a long kiss, almost awkwardly long, but she didn’t much care. His lips were so reassuring against her own, just like the rest of his presence. When she was around him there was a sense of pure happiness, of safety, and of protection. Nothing else in the world really mattered as long as he was there.

When he pulled away MJ could feel herself blubbering like a fish, still seeking out his contact.

“MJ, you just went through some shit that I can’t even imagine. I don’t care how you act. I just wanna help you get through this; help you cope with it all. I’m not gonna leave you just because things might be getting tough, that’s…this is the point when I should be closest to you. When I should support you the most. I love you, and even if I wish you hadn’t done what you did, I don’t love you any less because of it.”

A nudging smile spread across MJ’s face. She squeezed his hand; the young bean really was too good for this earth.

“Don’t say it,” he muttered.

“Say what?”

“You do deserve me MJ.”

“How’d you kno-”

“Had that look in your eyes.”

“You know me too well Parker.”

Leaning over once more, their lips met in an affectionate embrace. An affection that slowly grew, his hands taking in her hips, nudging her closer. Her own digits slipped under his shirt, feeling familiar muscles beneath his skin. Strong arms hurriedly shot up, begging her to slip off his shirt. 

As much as she wanted to continue, she pulled away, because their honest discussion was far from over.

“There’s something else,” she gasped between hungering kisses.

“I’m sure it can wait,” he huffed back, seeking her lips.

“It can’t,” she replied firmly, pulling away from him. She rest a stiff hand on his chest, forcing his gaze to meet hers. “And before I say it, I want you to know I’m sorry and I know I messed up bad and…”

Those three little words that usually came so easy stuck like Velcro to her tongue. How could they sound like anything but a lie with what she was about to say.

“MJ…it’s ok,” his expression shifted to his caring naivety, though MJ could tell he wasn’t ready. She couldn’t blame him, nothing could prepare him for what she was about to say.

“I uhmmm…I’ve been…” she shamefully averted her gaze sipping a remorseful couple of breaths.

A caring thumb skittered across her palm, and despite her betrayal she couldn’t help but ease into it. “I’m here for you,” he hushed.

_You won’t be after this_. “I um…I’ve been seeing…more than that actually…I think I’m in love with someone else.”

For weeks MJ had been convincing herself that she wasn’t lying to Peter. That she was simply hiding a truth that would be too painful for him, too much for him to bear. That there was actually a difference between those two things. That she was protecting him by saving him from the pain.

But the moment she witnessed Peter’s reaction, the awful err in her reasoning was fully realized. Not only had she been lying to Peter, but to herself as well. The truth was that by keeping her secret, she had spared only herself the pain, not her lover. A pang of guilt tore through her heart like an icy bullet, shredding all the elation she had felt moments ago. That same weight that she always imagined Peter carrying came hurtling down on top of her shoulders.

He shot upwards, tearing his hand away. “What?! What does…what do you mean?”

“I’ve been seeing someone else, and it…it was just a one-off crush at first…but now…I think it’s something a lot more.”

“So you’ve been cheating on me?” he replied dully, “MJ how…how could you?”

“Pete I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you before but…it…I was scared.”

“MJ I…who…no. Your hall pass?”

She hung her head in shame, gaze hanging uselessly towards the floor. “No, not her. Wanda…”

“Maximoff!?”

“Yeah.”

“Wh-when…how…I…I…MJ?” His voice was so broken. So fractured, shattered, obliterated, betrayed. Everything and nothing all at once.

“I’m sorry Pete,” she huffed. She couldn’t change the past. “I’m so, so sorry. I know I should’ve said something sooner-”

“When?” he asked, the tears in his eyes evident in his shaky voice.

“After we toured the compound.”

“God MJ. So ever since then…all this time you two have been…oh that time with the bathroom?”

MJ nodded ashamedly. It was all she could do.

“The…th-the internship? Is that even real?”

“I am an intern for the Black Widow, but I don’t…you know…”

Thumbs rose to massage his temples as he paced heavily around the room. She could see the despondence falling like ash onto his body as he dealt with her betrayal. She felt despicable. Truly awful. It’s not often in your lifetime that you realize with undeniable certainty that you’ve hurt someone. Truly hurt them.

This was one of those rare occasions.

But she couldn’t focus on herself, right now all she cared about was making Peter feel better.

“MJ…” his voice cracked…so weak and vulnerable. She wished she could punch herself in the face right now. “Why didn’t you…MJ why…wait you’re an intern to the _Black Widow_ , so auntie Nat…?”

“Yeah…” she sighed defeatedly, “it started with Wanda and I, then one time Nat caught us and she joined in…and then uhm…then she invited Carol and Valkyrie.”

“Oh god Aunt Carol and Auntie Val are part of this too,” groaned Peter, flopping back against the grey stone wall, struggling to comprehend the blistering magnitude of the rabbit hole she had recently revealed.

MJ could only nod, contrite at herself for having obscured the truth for so long. She felt sorry for Peter, who not only had to deal with the enormity of information she had previously unloaded, but now had to wrestle with this emotional juggernaut. It was an impossible task even for him, and it was all her fault.

He sat on the ground opposite her, running his fingernails through curly black locks, scratching his scalp glumly. His usually reserved yet bouncy body language was gone. Replaced instead by a dejected, heartbroken, betrayed profile. Elbows leaning wearily on his thighs, shoulders hunched in mental defeat. “MJ why didn’t you…I…that whole time I was in Wakanda?”

MJ sunk into her frame, wishing she could go back in time, do it all over again. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say. She said it over and over, even when she knew how hollow it sounded to Peter. “Pete…I’m so sorry. I-I need you to know that…it was never anything about you…it was me, all me…I made the mistake…”

He exhaled troubledly. “MJ I don’t know if…how could you lie to me like that?”

The answer waded to the forefront. She knew what she had been telling herself for months, but as she heard it in her head it sounded nothing but selfish, especially after what he had said about accepting burdens. Flimsy reasoning to ease her dissonance, to convince herself from addressing what it really meant. “I…I don’t know…”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” he growled, “you obviously had a reason for hiding it!”

“Pete I…I was scared about what would happen with us. And I didn’t wanna hurt you…”

“So you kept going and just hid it, thinking what…that as long as I didn’t know it’d be ok.”

“NO! I always felt terrible about hiding it, but I couldn’t lose you, and if you found out…Pete I never meant to hurt you like this…”

“You have to know how that sounds right now…”

“Pete I…”

He picked himself up off the ground, striding towards the window. His eyes were visibly shaky, stained with red lines that crisscrossed the splintered sea of white. Those eyes that for years she had lost herself in, eyes that she fell in love with. This broke MJ. The nail in the coffin. Seeing how much she had hurt him. How deeply her betrayal cut.

“WAIT…” she pleaded, Peter’s back towards her, standing before the open window, “I…I’m sorry. I love you…so, so much…and I’m so sorry that I lied to you.”

With that he silently scampered out onto the fire escape and down the building.

Left alone, she sat dejected on her bed. Tears streamed down her cheek, heart massacred into millions of little pieces. She couldn’t handle being alone right now.

Her dad carefully turned around as her door closed, no doubt having heard the explosive fight that took place. “ _Dad_ ,” she cried out, opening her arms wide for him to embrace her. He took her in slow, brushing her messy hair while for the fourth and final time that day she bawled her eyes out. Though this one was the worst. This one truly stung…and would for weeks to come.


	9. Chapter 9

“H-hello…MJ?”

“Hey Nat…uhm…how…how is he?”

“MJ don’t-”

“Please,” she cracked, “I just need to know…please?”

A heavy sigh came from the other end of the line, more strained than MJ usually heard from the redhead. “He’s stayed out till three the past few nights, and he’s covering a lot more area than he should.”

Nat decided not to tell MJ about the footage. After the first night that Peter extended his patrol, she had asked Karen to discretely send the tapes of his extended endeavors. What she saw was hours upon silent hours spent staring out into the night sky, perched atop the tallest buildings he could find. And every once in a while he’d just break down, unprovoked, crying all by his lonesome. It was heartbreaking.

He had also gotten more violent. Never crossing his line but…definitely letting the pain on the inside affect his actions on the outside. Nat would usually confront someone for such behavior, but seeing as she was part of the problem…well, that probably wouldn’t work out well.

MJ choked out a sob as she realized what he was doing. Drowning himself in Spider-man to avoid being Peter. “Is he…has he gotten hurt?”

“No, but…” Neither of them needed to hear the end of that.

“Has…did he come talk to you guys.”

“Yeah…your uhm…I got word of what happened and was able to prepare a little. He was pretty pissed…I tried to direct as much of the brunt as I could towards me but…well he wasn’t much pleased with any of us and uhm…he definitely made sure we knew.”

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing that can’t be taken back thankfully but…it still stung…a lot.”

MJ understood all too well. “How…how is she?”

“MJ you really don’t need to-”

“Please Nat…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“She’s…she’s not doing too well.” As much as Nat didn’t want to burden MJ with this knowledge, it felt so good to share it with someone else. “I wish I could tell you what she’s thinking but, well ever since he came by she hasn’t much been in a talking mood.”

“Can…can you just let her know I don’t blame her…please?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks…”

“And Cassie’s-”

“Oh no,” realized MJ.

“What?” Nat asked, panic in her voice.

“Cassie…I-I didn’t tell Peter about her.”

“Yeah…he was…he was pretty ticked off when he saw her in the compound. Not how I saw their partnership playing out but she’s uh…well I guess we’re all dealing with it how we can. How…how are you MJ?”

How to answer such a question when you’ve done what she did. Committed one of the worst sins you can as a lover, to someone who you’ve been madly in love with for two years, and no doubt still was. What can be said to sum up the emotional turmoil she’s existing in.

“I don’t know Nat…I-I don’t really ca-…I just need to know that he’s ok. But it’s so hard right now cause I want to hold him and comfort him…but I can’t. I ruined it Nat.”

“No, you didn’t-”

“YES I DID!” she growled, “I had something beautiful and I threw it away!”

Nat sat silent on the other end of the line. What could she say? She didn’t know what Peter was feeling, what he might do. She couldn’t assure her it would all be ok, because it might not. She ached to hold the mixed girl in her arms, but even if she could be there, she got the feeling that while MJ had called her she wasn’t exactly someone she’d wanna see right now. “MJ please don’t be too hard on yourself…I know you and…I know what that can do to you. I’m sure this’ll all work out eventually.”

“Yeah…yeah. Thanks Nat.”

“Stay strong MJ. If you ever wanna talk-”

“I know,” she interrupted softly, “thanks.”

And the line went silent.

Sitting alone in the compound kitchen, the comforting smell of vodka wafted from the glass sat below her nose. Solemnly downing the rest of the liquor, she marched over to Cassie’s room. The young Californian was dressed for travel, cargo pants draping her legs, zipping up the oversized hiking pack before slinging it around her back. “You ready to head back?” she asked in her best faux perky voice.

“Yeah,” replied Cassie, not even trying to hide the bone-dry tone that had become all too familiar around the compound.

“Quinjet should be set to take you to SF and come back on its own. Sorry I forgot the first time.”

“It’s alright. I uhm…I don’t mind travelling.”

She held the door open as they exited into the hallway, leading the way to the landing pad. “How are…how ya feeling?”

Auburn eyes looked at her in exhaustion. They were both tired of that question. “It just sucks,” she admitted openly, one thing Cassie never failed to do, “knowing that I was an active part of it. I…I’ve seen a lot of pain throughout my life but…I’ve always been on the other side of it. Except now…Nat the look on his face when he yelled at us…”

“I know Cassie. It’s um, it’s not gonna be easy but…if you ever wanna talk, just give me a ring.”

“Thanks,” she replied, stepping into the jet, “I’ll see you soo-…see ya around.”

Nat gave one last futile wave watching the ship drift off into the starry horizon. A moment passed as she decompressed in the temporary isolation.

“Fuck Nat…this is really fucked.”

The night sky offered no answer. Already missing the comforts of a drink, she marched back down to the hallway, pausing in front of a familiar door.

As gently as she could, knuckles rasped on one side of a silent gateway.

“Go away,” grumbled a wavering voice.

“Wanda please, you’ve been in there almost all day. You at least need to eat something for dinner.”

“No.”

“ _Wanda…_ ”

“I said GO AWAY!” A faint burst of crimson leaked from beneath the doorway causing Nat to stiffen for a second. If Wanda wasn’t open to talking, there wasn’t much she could do to force the issue.

“Ok. But I’m gonna leave some food outside your door…promise me you’ll eat it?”

Silence.

“Ok,” she hushed, strolling towards the kitchen, scouring for some leftovers. Minutes later she returned carrying a tray of food and water towards Wanda’s room, bottle of vodka tucked under her armpit. She set down the tray, making sure the note was clearly visible.

_I don’t blame you,_

_-MJ_

A heavy sigh tumbled from her lips as she trudged back to her own room, opening the cap to the container of drowned sorrows.

>>>>>

Peter hadn’t reached out in nearly a week, by far the longest amount of time they hadn’t spoken in their two years. Winter break was about to end, and tomorrow they’d be forced to face one another at school. Which meant that when the text popped up on her screen, she couldn’t help the flutter of hope in her heart, even though she knew it would likely only end up causing her more hurt.

**Compound. 5pm.**

**OK**

She arrived at the station at 4:15, scuttling down into the boisterous cacophony. As she milled about the massive crowds, she realized she was no longer overcome with the anxiety of having to be constantly on guard. At least, no more so than any other interracial woman usually was. She felt a sliver of release, realizing how important it had been to get _him_ off the streets. The difference that it actually made. It was one more small step towards allowing women to not have to feel like they have to persistently be on the lookout.

Though her brain was still a house divided on what she had done…killing him, at least she had reprieve in knowing that taking him off the streets was a universally irrefutable decision.

Hopping onto her ride she took up position at the caboose, old habits dying hard. As the rumble of the tracks filled her ear, she remembered the fight in her room. The pure anguish in his eyes, how much she wanted to wrap him in a hug and never let anyone hurt him ever again. But she had lied to him and she had betrayed him, so she couldn’t do that. Her brain ran over that fateful night endlessly until the doors to her exit creaked open. 

Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she stepped up to the grand gate. For the first time ever she asked Edith to let her in, making the long walk down the driveway to the main entrance. By the time she arrived in the kitchen, it was five minutes prior to the meeting time.

There she sat, alone, wallowing in anxious pessimism. Drowning in the possibilities of what was about to happen. A couple minutes passed before Nat and Wanda showed up. It didn’t take a mind reader to tell they had also been summoned by her boyfr- _probably not anymore_.

Natasha nodded gravely towards her in greeting, both of them silently acknowledging the hopeless inevitability of this situation. Wanda meanwhile seemed content to avoid her gaze, and MJ didn’t mind. What would she even say to her? All this had started with them. This happened because of them.

The two redheads took their seats, sitting in resigned silence. The air lay heavy with remorse, each of them understanding in one way or another that this was bound to happen.

When Peter marched in, his demeanor was intent yet hurt. The hours mulling over the pain and heartbreak showed in his face, in his eyes. MJ had seen him take beatings over the years, yet somehow he looked so much worse than after any of those battles. Standing before the three, he held silent for a long time, only rising up the tangible tension.

While they were all anticipating a raging outburst, it hurt so much worse when only a sob hitched from his lungs. “How could you?” he cried, “how could you hide this from me?”

The trio glanced at one another, none of them possessing a good answer.

“I mean what the hell Nat? You think that just because she’s my girlfriend she’s all of a sudden team property? That…that it gives you a free pass to take advantage of her, use her however you want.”

Natasha sat there, unmoving, legs crossed, allowing the boy to berate her. Peter was a child. A hero yes, but not a master interrogator. If she talked back to him, it would only result in the kid getting flustered and more upset. Instead she allowed him to keep mildly shouting, knowing that eventually he would wear himself out.

Not to say she didn’t feel bad. He was right in this situation; she should have said something to him. They all should’ve. He was an excellent boyfriend and keeping the truth from him was blatantly wrong. She herself was especially dour because she knew how bonded their relationship had become.

Since the decimation, Natasha had become the de facto leader of the team. So when Peter came back, and Tony posthumously placed his crown upon the young boy, he had naturally looked to her for help. He had confided in her about his worries of being a leader, about how overwhelmed he felt by it all. And she’d supported him, often checking up on him and making sure he was ok. That he wasn’t over burdening himself. He had even lovingly named their text chat as “SPIDERS,” something which Natasha found absurdly cute.

So, to have this, this massive breach of that trust. She could only hope to work out some sort of reconciliation and hope that Peter didn’t feel too slighted.

“And MJ…MJ…why would you hold this from me. I…I feel like I’ve never been anything but open with you, and then you…you go and do this. How could you? And Wanda…you- you’ve become like a sister to me and then you just…” his voice splintered. He was so visibly broken that it hurt them all just seeing him like this.

“All of you…I mean how could you. She’s my girlfriend, and what, you think that because I’m just a simple friendly neighborhood Spiderman that automatically makes her your plaything. Why didn’t you at least just tell me? I deserved to have a say, and I’m just…you guys actively hid this from me…you knew and you made sure I didn’t…why?”

Natasha could sense the cutting betrayal in his voice. Peter was fiercely loyal, almost to a fault, so when that sentiment wasn’t reciprocated, she could see how much that pained him. She knew what trust meant to him, especially after everything he had gone through with Mysterio. He kept his circle tight and played everything close to the vest. So she knew how this stung.

MJ arose from her seat. She didn’t have the heart to keep seeing Peter like this any longer. “I…there’s nothing we can say Pete…there’s no good reason for lying to you…b-because it was wrong. It was…oh Pete it was totally wrong.”

Seeing that MJ was already beginning to break, the tears wobbling on her eyelid, Nat arose to finally step in. “She’s right Peter…there’s not much more to say other than we’re sorry. We know how much trust and transparency means to you, and we’re sorry that we took advantage of that, and what you two have. I think I speak for all of us when I say that, we hope you can forgive us.”

MJ stood next to him, hands yearning to hold him and soothe him. “She’s right. I…I was so scared about how you would react, and what the truth would do to you, to _us_ , that I didn’t even think about how I was taking advantage of you. How I was hurting you. And I’m so, so sorry about that. I love you Pete, more than anything, and I feel like such an asshole for hurting you.”

The young man nodded curtly, clearly having calmed. When he spoke next, his voice was tranquil, “I just, I can’t understand why you guys hid-”

“Don’t,” Nat hushed, “don’t drive yourself crazy trying to figure out why we did what we did. I know you and I know that’s what you’ll do. If you want our answer, we don’t really have one. Just know that we’re sorry, and we never meant to hurt you.”

Nat reached her hand out to Peter’s shoulder, but the young boy listlessly swiveled away, palm finding nothing but air. To say her heart shattered into a million pieces was an understatement.

His glossy face remained in a thousand-yard gaze, looking out past the windows. “Thanks for the apology, I just…I need some time by myself,” he said, turning to exit the compound.

MJ could only watch in agony as Peter strode off toward the exit. Each step he took was like a knife embedding further into her dying heart. She drearily picked herself up as best she could, dragging crestfallen feet across the floor. “I gotta get back” she whispered, her mind far away “…school tomorrow.”

MJ trudged off without so much as a goodbye, leaving Nat to stare at the wake of something that she felt responsible for. She plopped back down into the plushy chair, watching the heart aching lovers walk off separately into the distance.

What she felt was only ten times worse for Wanda. There was no denying that she was at fault. She was the one who had approached MJ at her own apartment, luring her into a night of sex. She had indulged their heated fantasy and hadn’t once thought about the boy who…who felt that she was like a sister to him. Those words rung in her head. A sister.

She had only thought about herself, her pleasure. Their anguish, heart ache, pain, it was all on her. And if they split, that would also be on her.

Her remorse and guilt were only furthered by her powers. Her bond with Nat and MJ had become so strong that she could sometimes sense their more expressive emotions. And the room reeked with anguish and devastation.

A funny thing really, spending so much time training to control her powers to prevent devastation, yet in the end its her human side that causes others the most pain.

>>>>

It’d been another two weeks since the confrontation at the compound. School was painful for both of them, made even more grueling by the fact that prior to winter break they had decided to partner on a project. Which meant they were forced to talk to one another, conversations awkward at best, torturous at worst. They hadn’t addressed what happened, and even Ned had taken notice.

Though as difficult as school was, at home almost seemed worse. Every day she would walk in and greet her father with a smile that they both knew was stilted. He’d ask how she was doing; she’d reply with some variant of “good” or “ok.” Then he’d ask how she was handling everything about Trevor, and she’d tell him every day was a little bit easier. Then lastly he’d bring up Peter, and a sorrowful tear would push at the back of her eyes while he gave her a hug.

When she would flop onto her bed, homework gnawed at her but all she could focus on was Peter. How horribly he must despise her. How viscerally she had betrayed his trust, his loyalty. How lonely he must be. How much she still loved him and longed to be holding him tight in her arms, caring for him until he fell asleep.

Then would come the eventual breakdown, emotions welling over after a day of being pent up at school. Over and over for twelve days it became routine.

Peter wasn’t much better off. He came into his apartment, May checking up on him following his afternoon patrol of heroing, touching up any minor bruises if they even existed. Then she’d ask how he was doing, he’d say “good” and she’d tell him that’s not a good enough answer. Then he’d remember her, and all of a sudden none of the bruises mattered compared to the ones that marred his heart.

And while homework nagged at him, all he could think about was MJ. How much her lies stung, how deeply her betrayal had cut. How much she had hurt him and taken advantage of his trust in her. And worst of all was how much he still loved her. It filled him with anger that he still loved her. After all she had done, when his brain was screaming at him to be mad at her, he only felt incomplete without her, without her love.

Then he’d depart for his newly introduced evening patrols, because being alone in a room for hours was too much time for his thoughts to wander. He’d throw himself into protecting the city, trying to stop every crime he caught wind of. Yet no matter how hard he tried she always managed to come back.

For twelve days they went on like this, over and over, until one morning May finally stepped in.

As had become usual, he crawled into his room a couple hours before the crack of dawn, this night in particular nursing a bevy of graze wounds from a fight with some pretty average robbers. During what should’ve been a mundane fight he had gotten caught up in his own head, and it seemed to affect his “tingle,” which meant that he had somehow let a stream of four bullets graze his left shoulder. The wound stung like a bitch, but he couldn’t help thinking it was better than lying in bed awake thinking about...

As he dropped silently from the ceiling, the lights ominously flashed on, revealing a disgruntled looking May. “Pete, look at me,” she started intently, “that’s enough of this shit. I understood that you needed a few days because I knew what you were going through, but I’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground any longer. I know there’s a lot going on up there about her, that’s why you’re doing all this. But you can either address your feelings with her or get yourse-…what is that?” she glowered, eyes darting to the slightly torn fabric across his arm.

“Oh it’s…it’s nothing just a-”

“Are those gunshot wounds?” Her eyes bore into his in that way that only an upset parent could.

“No…” his eyes trailed down, “…yeah.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker so help me god,” she rambled off into Italian as she marched out of the room, reappearing with a box of medical supplies. “When we came back, I swore on my life that I would not let anything happen to you, and _cazzo madre de dio_ I’m not gonna let you get killed over a girl.” She took his hand into her grasp, pleading eyes staring at him with a nurturing desire that he had seen only in her hardest moments.. “I know that it’s gonna be hard…but please Peter…talk to her. Figure this out. OK?”

He nodded as she tended to a series of scratches, flinching as she made sure to sanitize them. She worked diligently and patiently, though her disappointment was unmistakable. “May…I’m sorry. I-I…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She glanced up at him with those protective eyes, exhaustion visible beneath the gleam of her glasses. “I know Pete…and I’m sorry I got so worked up. I just worry about you a lot, and I want you to be happy. And I know that right now it might seem like running away from your feelings is the easiest option, but I can promise you that it won’t lead you to happiness. It never does.”

He nodded in understanding. May wasn’t one to get overly upset often, so if she was really bothered by something, it was important. ‘Have you…did someone ever…you know?”

A smile tugged at her upper lip, fatigue replaced by nostalgia. “No. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had some big fights in the past. A few of them with your uncle. But we always worked it out…because we were willing to talk honestly and openly. And because we loved each other, enough to forgive one another for the mistakes we made.”

Thoughts of MJ emerged from his subconscious, about facing the fact that he still loved her, though he wasn’t sure if it was enough to forgive something like this. To forgive the hurt she had caused.

But he now knew that he could no longer avoid these feelings. It was time to face her.

>>>>

That afternoon, prompted by May’s words, he asked if he could come over, citing their need to talk. She agreed, and after a quiet patrol he swung by.

Knocking lightly on the front door, the tall, gentle grace of Ian greeted him. There was no doubt MJ’s dad must’ve known of their situation, yet despite this he still welcomed him with the same endearing hug he always did. “She’s in her room,” he spoke, as if it wasn’t obvious that’s where the majority of both their days were spent .

A polite smile and nod was all the response Peter could muster, tapping lightly on MJ’s door before gliding in. She was sat on the side of her bed, clearly waiting for him. The way she looked into him…it was as if despite spending hours together at school she hadn’t seen him in years. And he knew the feeling, because he felt the same. He missed her easing aura, her calm demeanor, her sarcastic and dry humor, he missed her. And he couldn’t help but admire how perfectly her loose cloth shirt fell over her shoulders, or how the sun just perfectly rebounded off her brown locks.

But she had hurt him. So, he shouldn’t…couldn’t feel these things. Right?

“I’ve missed you Pete,” she spoke, barely louder than a whisper.

And as much as those words stung, he felt the same way.

“How?” he asked plainly, “how do I know you won’t lie again?” It’d been the question that stole his thoughts mid class and enchained his mind throughout most of those drawn out nights.

“ _Again?_ ”

“Yes MJ, again. Because it’s only been a month and already I miss you…miss us so much. But how do I know that you won’t lie to me again?”

“I…I…I…” MJ was too taken aback by what he had just said to think. She thought there was no chance he could even still love her, but here he was, admitting it. “You’ve missed me?”

“Yes MJ. So much. But every time I think about coming back to you that thought comes rushing back into my head. So I’m asking you now…how do I know?”

His barely together eyes began to splinter under the weight of his heartache, and MJ knew there was only one answer, even if she didn’t want to say it. “You won’t Pete. Cause I can promise you I won’t, swear on anything that I won’t. But…because I did what I did…you’ll never be a hundred percent sure. You…you’re just gonna have to trust me. Which I know sounds laughable coming from me, but I think we both know it’s the truth.”

He glared down at his palms, dawdling on how wrong it felt to be sitting so near her and not have his fingers interlaced with hers. “I…I know MJ. It’s just that…what you did…trusting you after that.”

“I know Pete-”

“Do you?”

“Yes…I really do. After my rape…I-I couldn’t trust anyone, didn’t even think I could trust myself. But I did, it took time, and it wasn’t easy. But eventually I did. Pete the trust we had was something we built over two years, so it’s not gonna come back just like that. But I…I guess if we did try then…it’d having to be something we rebuilt over time.”

“Rebuild,” he repeated, lulling the word over in his mouth. He looked into MJ’s eyes, searching for something to tell him to say no. Something to tell him that he was stupid to have come back, and that he didn’t have these feelings for her. But there was nothing…only those indifferent yet loving windows that he had fallen madly in love with years ago. That he was still madly in love with. “I guess this is where we break ground then.”

“Yeah…I guess so,” she half-smiled.

He stepped up to her, the brunt of the crushing weight slowly easing from his chest. Her arms tucked over his, and he was reminded how much he needed these. How much these hugs had saved him on his hardest days. 

MJ could feel it too. There was something there that hadn’t been there for the past month. A burgeoning glimmer of hope. Not their old relationship, no something different. A new beginning, a new hope.

>>>>

It had been two more weeks since their auspicios confrontation in MJ’s apartment. Things we’re looking optimistic for their relationship. What had once been a painful experience had transformed into a boon as their partner work had kept them interacting on a regular basis. More importantly, despite it being something small, she got to show Peter that he could rely on her, even if it was just to pull through with her share of the work.

Their conversations slowly became increasingly friendly, to the point that they had rediscovered enough comfort to toss digs and barbs at one another from time to time. It wasn’t what it had been, and it probably never would be exactly the same, but there was friendship, and somewhere far on the horizon maybe love. 

And maybe the horizon wasn’t all that far away, because there was one fateful day in the halls. The next class was due to start soon, and they were discussing the finishing details of the project before they’d go their separate ways. When the bell rung, and kids started filing one way or another, they had stayed an extra beat, mulling over the final touches.

“When’s the due date?”

“Tuesday for the paper, Thursday for the diorama,” he replied.

“Ok, we should be good then. Catch you after class?”

“Mhmm,” he replied. Then it happened. He leaned in and pecked her on the lips as they departed. It happened so naturally and quickly that it took both of them a moment to realize what just happened.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to…I shouldn’t’ve-”

“It’s ok…” interrupted MJ, her mind like the Sahara, “that was um…it was nice.”

They stared into one another’s eyes, not wanting to leave because something like that deserved so much more than “it was nice.” But the constructs of colonialist education called them, and so, no more words were spoken about what happened.

>>>>

Not until later that night, that is. For that second-long moment had been embedded and replayed in both their minds a thousand times over since it had happened, and both of them had stared endlessly at their phones, the other’s name gracing their screen, wondering whether or not they should say something.

Once it became too much to bear, Peter reached out.

**Can I come over?**

**Sure. You can come through the window.**

She replied all too quickly. Undoing the absurd amount of locks on her window (because Val was the best), she anxiously awaited for Peter to swing by, nails digging into her thighs. Seconds stretched to minutes, and minutes to hours, and by the time he knocked on her window she had imagined fifty different ways this conversation could go.

With sticky fingers, the window was raised and he landed quietly upon her floor. “So…” he huffed.

“Yeah…” she replied equally as awkward.

“We kissed,” he pointed out, as if it hadn’t been the only thing occupying their thoughts for hours.

“Yeah…it was uhm…nice.”

“It was.”

“Does that mean that we’re…”

“I…I think so. I guess I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to.”

“So would I,” she smirked back. Risking it, she stepped in close, cautiously pulling his body towards hers.

“MJ wait.” She stopped in her tracks. “There’s…there’s one more thing.”

Knowing what it was, she stepped away.

“MJ, you said you loved Wanda…and it didn’t sound like a heat of the moment thing…I need to know…do you still feel that way?”

“Uhm…I…” she sighed, because they were so close but one last hurdle stood in their way, “yeah. I do, I know I probably shouldn’t…but I do. Are…are you mad?”

“I…I don’t know. I feel like I should be, but I also know it’s stupid to think I can control who you love.”

“But it bothers you?”

“Well…yeah. It just…it’s a weird feeling. Knowing that I have to compete against someone else for your love.”

“Well uhm…what if…” was she really about to say this, it’d been on her mind since they’d become friendly again, but she hadn’t actually thought it realistic, “what if you guys didn’t compete…”

His head cocked pensively. “What do…what do you mean.”

]

“What if instead of playing on opposite teams, you became teammates.”

“MJ I’m still not-”

“What if you both had me, and I had both of you.”

“Oh…you mean like…like share you?”

“ _Well-”_

“I know, I can’t share you, you’re not property. But, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah…and yeah. I know it sounds kinda crazy, but you wouldn’t feel like you’re fighting over me, and I could express how I feel about her.” She can’t believe she just said it, out and out said it.

He paused, eyes dancing across her demeanor. “You’ve been thinking about this haven’t you?” he asked, because he could read MJ better than most anyone.

“Yeah…a little bi- uhm well, a lotta bit.”

Peter nodded in understanding, a look they had shared with one another many times. “Can I…can I think about it a little.”

“Yeah…yeah of course Pete,” she answered softly, “I know it’s a lot to take in.”.

“Yeah…thanks,” he smiled, turning away, “goodnight MJ.”

“Goodnight Pete,” she replied, watching him leave, wanting one more thing but not pressing it.

Fortunately for her so did Peter. Spinning on his heels, he marched back towards MJ and pulled her into him, pressing his lips to hers.

MJ was choked with an onslaught of emotion. God this was so perfect. His lips were cosmically pre-destined for hers. They felt so right pressed against one another, and she knew he felt the same because he melted into her as much as she did to him. Every romance cliché about how perfect a kiss feels couldn’t hold a candle to this.

If it felt like time had slowed while she was waiting, now it felt like it hastened. What was probably a minute-long kiss felt no longer than the peck they had shared, and the moment that they separated MJ immediately longed for another. But Peter was already sliding out back through the window, and before she knew it the locks were locked and she was back in bed, her heart racing, low heat burning in her stomach.

>>>>

It was after school the next day when her response came. Making the walk back to her apartment, she received a text.

**Meet me on your roof.**

Suffice to say, the rest of her trip went along speedier than usual, feet stammering as she rode up the grumbling elevator before speed walking out onto the roof.

Sitting neatly off the edge of the building was a tuft of brunette hair laid upon an intricate blue and red costume. A complexity of reflections bounded off the windows of nearby buildings as she sat herself next to Peter, his eyes staring at an invisible decision. While she would usually be scared of such a precarious height, she knew that if she fell, he would catch her.

“What’s up?” she asked. 

“I think I’d wanna try it.”

“Try wha- oh…wait…seriously?”

“Yeah. I…I can tell you really want it-”

“Pete. I don’t want you doing it just to make me happy. Hell, after what I did, I should be doing that for you.”

“I’m not. Or, I guess I am…but that’s not how I saw it. When you love someone like I love you, doing something that makes you happy doesn’t even feeling like I’m sacrificing anything. If anything, it makes me happy. And even after what you did…I never stopped loving you, and I honestly doubt I ever will. And I want to do this, for you and for me, for us.”

She stared at him in that way that we all do when admiring something truly divine. “How are you so good?” she wondered aloud

“Cause I’m surrounded by even better people,” he answered, taking her hand in his.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered, leaning into a lingering kiss. A kiss that quickly became much more. Soon his hands were skimming along her shirt, then under her shirt, working her favorite spots as if they hadn’t been separated for nearly two months. “You’re sure about this?” she asked before they went any further.

“Yeah. Plus I’d be lying if I said I’ve never thought about Wanda.”

A particularly heavy exhale was released upon hearing that sentiment. Her hands quickly moved up, Peter’s suit smooth under her clawing grasp, desperate to touch what was beneath. “Off,” she prodded. 

“Not here,” Peter replied, picking her up easily as their lips still met, a happy noise spilling from her mouth as he did. She felt him carry them towards the other side of the building, and then eventually down the wall. “Shit, how are we gonna get in?” he huffed.

“Dammit…ok just let me down then I’ll let you in.”

“Or…” he suggested.

“Or…?” she replied, liking where this was potentially going. _God I never thought he’d be into doing it in public like this._

“I really should get back to my route.”

_Oh._ “Seriously…right now?”

His response was to thwip a web to her stomach and slowly let her rappel down to the ground. “Seriously?!” she called back, glaring up at the hero. He shrugged at her while his face wore a teasing smile.

And as disappointed she was by this, she couldn’t help but be overcome with joy, because she hadn’t seen him smile like that in months, and it was such a happy sight.

_**THE END** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the support and love for this work. It was definitely tough to write, but one of the most gratifying things I've written. I'm so happy that I was able to share this story, and hope that I did it justice. 
> 
> Love you and I'll see y'all in Dear Mr. Fantasy 2!

**Author's Note:**

> Appreciate the love and support. I was pretty nervous about this because it such a complex topic. Hopefully I didn't butcher it and it's both enjoyable and connecting. Thanks!!!


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